


The Rockrose and the Thistle

by Descarada



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Character, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Eventual Smut, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, First Time, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Geralt’s PTSD about the trials, Geraskier, Inspired by a The Amazing Devil Song, Jaskier Has His Own Sword, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Multiple, The Amazing Devil Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descarada/pseuds/Descarada
Summary: This is my love letter to Geralt and Jaskier. It was inspired by The Rockrose and the Thistle, by The Amazing Devil.It begins after that day on the mountain. After about a month of abject misery, Geralt and Jaskier are reunited by the fates in Dol Blathanna. Geralt has been hired by the king to kill a bruxa. Jaskier (in the same city for a music festival) learns that the hunt is a ruse and Geralt is stumbling into an ambush. But given that Jaskier is only one bard against an entire retinue of royal guards, he must go to extremes to save the man he loves. And after learning why the king wants Geralt dead, Geralt’s traumatic past comes back to haunt him. Saving Geralt’s life might be the easy part.Earns its explicit rating in the final chapter.There are OC’s but none are self inserts. Seriously none of them are me or like me. Lol.One is a teenaged princess who is Jaskier’s biggest fan. Jaskier uses a sword. There are so many lesbians. It also accidently ended up something of a feminist manitfesto, so soz. Also there are so many The Amazing Devil lyrics I've snuck in. Gotta catch em all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 333
Kudos: 476





	1. A Shaky Looking Ladder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is stewing in misery until he meets some bards headed to a music festival. Not that he wants to find Jaskier and apologize to him or anything, but he joins them anyway.
> 
> A princess learns that a witcher is coming to court.

**Geralt**

The world smelled wrong. There was no scent of sheep gut string and wood varnish to remind Geralt of music. There was no heady mix of citrus, cinnamon and mulled wine to alleviate the stench of a successful hunt. 

The world looked wrong. Roach’s braids had fallen out. Geralt didn’t have the heart to recreate them.

The world sounded wrong. There was no laughter on long rides. No plucking of strings. No whispered songs at night.

The sounds that remained in the world grated and frayed Geralt’s nerves. No lilting voice softened their edges, so they stuck to him like thorns. He laid awake every night until the moon rose full in the sky. When he did fall asleep he dreamed of a cyan arctic river swallowing him.

First he tried to ignore the emptiness. But it gnawed so nastily. So he tried to reason with it. He explained to his aching chest that a witcher was always alone. That this was natural. Better even. Much, much better. The bard was far better off whether he knew that yet or not. But it would not listen to reason and good sense.

Geralt carried the emptiness with him everywhere he went, slung over his back like a corpse. It exhausted him and soured his mood. He knew he looked worse for wear. His black tunic was dusty, his long white hair knotted. He caught himself snarling at anything that moved. One day he even terrified a small child.

Children used to hide from him when he rode into town. Geralt never had figured out how to look friendly. His face just sort of sunk into a permanent scowl. And there was no hiding the vestiges of violence on his skin. And if his unwelcoming appearance hadn’t alienated people, his inhuman qualities did. His golden eyes. His increased senses. No human wanted to be smelled or heard a hundred yards away.

But even so, it was mostly superstition and prejudice against witchers repeated to the children by their parents that kept them hiding in houses. Mutants. Demons. Affronts to decency and gentleness. An insult to the gods. Brutal. Violent. Hide your women, and so on. And of course Geralt was himself the Butcher of Blaviken.

But then a young bard with lips like petals and more charm than good sense, had attached himself to Geralt and composed glowing portraits of him to the masses. Even twenty years of it hadn’t been enough to change every heart and mind. But kids were the most receptive audience to the reputation rehabilitation of the white wolf. They were still learning. Little sponges. And now their little heads were filled with Jaskier’s songs calling Geralt a friend of humanity.

The boy had run right up to Roach yelping about the witcher and his bard and real life golden dragons. He’d waved a wooden sword that had been carved to look like the silver one Geralt carried. But Geralt had been so encased in his misery that he’d been startled. He had growled and flinched for his hilt before he realized what he was doing. Fear welled in the boy’s eyes.

Geralt had secretly always wanted children to stop hiding from him. To smile at him. He had somewhat gotten his wish. But one month without Jaskier and he was scaring them once more. He couldn’t go one month without that ridiculous bard without fucking up all the hard work of his goddamn lute and poetry and voice of an angel. That bard who had never been afraid of him a moment of his life. The one he had crushed. The ripple of shame Geralt felt finally broke him open.

So the witcher walked next to Roach and told the story out loud at last. He described to the mare every detail of the quest in King Niedamier’s mountains, and did not varnish his own behavior. He admitted his jealousy of the imbecile knight and his insensitivity to Yennefer. That was easy to do because he was not a man who bothered much with ego. And Roach, after all, was a horse. But even so, he gagged on the words he had shouted at Jaskier. After a few false starts he managed to recount that part as well. As Geralt spoke, he saw Jaskier’s stricken face again clearly. At the time he had been too busy lashing out to notice. Loudly indulging in self pity and spite. He hadn’t taken note of the exact second Jaskier’s heart broke. But now he saw in slow motion. Again and again.

Though the worst of the shame had eased by confiding in the patient mare, Geralt still felt a small stabbing knot in his chest. It was manageable now, but he still devised ways to be rid of it. As he rode, he found himself daydreaming of rescuing Jaskier from various threats. Monsters. Vengeful lords. Natural disasters. He would never admit to these fantasies, not under threat of death. But although they were deeply embarrassing, they were his only reliable way to feel better. They loosened the knot. Several nights in a row he even rescued Jaskier in his dreams. Drowners. A hellhound. A shaky looking ladder. But like an anesthetic, it never lasted long enough. Every time he snapped back to reality, the pain would dig back in, reminding him that the world was wrong. That he had done this to himself. Without admitting it to himself why, Geralt decided to forget about the vesper in the Blue Mountains he was half-heartedly pursuing, and head to the nearest town.

**Chessa**

The only child of King Kazimir of Dol Blathanna sung quietly to herself as her pen scratched across the parchment. The song was called Her Sweet Kiss and singing it made Chessa feel like she knew a daring secret. Now that the princess was of marriageable age (though at the age of 15 she certainly didn’t feel old enough for marriage) her father wouldn’t let her leave the large drafty castle walls. So Chessa had to be resourceful to learn her favorite bard’s new songs.

She had learned that several of the cooks had left town to see Jaskier perform last week. So when they returned, she had snuck out of her cavernous room and down to the kitchens. Chessa had hid outside the kitchen behind the broom stand until a curly haired boy had come out with an armful of plates and a crooked smile.

His name was Antoni and he’d balanced the parchment on his greasy apron covered knee to write down all the lyrics for her. He’d also sung them for her. Chessa was deaf and many people thought that meant she couldn’t enjoy music but that wasn’t true. Antoni sat close to her as he sung so she could feel the vibrations of his voice through their pressed together shoulders. Then she begged him to perform it just as Jaskier had. So the tall gangly boy had gamely pirouetted around the hallway, winking and gesturing dramatically to the delight of Chessa who had giggled and applauded wildly.

Then Chessa’s governess Katarina had found them and whisked her back to her room. Katarina had cared for her since she was an infant, so she was more like her mother, though they looked nothing alike. And since her own mother died before she had turned one year old, Chessa had once asked her father if she could call Katarina her mother. Her father had told her to never say such an offensive thing again or he would send Katarina away. Katarina was a commoner. Katarina had come from an impoverished family and was saved from gutter living only by his largess. In fact, the only reason he didn’t give her governess duties to a well-educated well-bred woman was because Katarina knew how to speak in sign and Chessa needed that for her every day communication.

So Chessa had learned to appreciate Katarina. And when she made her governess’s life particularly stressful, she worked harder the next day at her lessons. Today they were working on calligraphy and sketching in the study adjoining her room. It was a sleek room with towering bookshelves carefully stacked with books about the Kazimir family history. The floors were covered in hand woven rugs imported from Oxenfurt. Katarina sat in a corner knitting something that looked cozy. The princess sat quietly at her large mahogany desk. The wood of the desk was polished so fastidiously that Chessa could see the reflections of her black braids looping around her head. The princess had spent the last hour carefully copying down the lyrics to her new favorite song in wobbly calligraphy. There were still rogue droplets of ink scattered throughout, but far fewer than last week. Now she was working on the accompanying drawing, and singing as she went. 

I'm weak my love, and I am wanting

_If this is the path I must trudge_

_I welcome my sentence_

_Give to you my penance_

_Garrotter, jury and judge_

Chessa finished her drawing. Katarina put her knitting down and got up to take a look. She signed to Katarina “Let me take a look princess.” The governess picked up the parchment and scrutinized it then placed it back on the desk.

“Beautiful penmanship, you are really improving,” she signed.

“Thank you Rina,” signed Chessa.

“I’m proud of you.”

Chessa beamed.

Katarina continued. “Your sketches are also improving. The detail is impressive. But what is the handsome man holding in his hand?”

“A garroter.”

Katarina looked concerned.

“The device that crushes people’s throats to death?” She asked.

“That’s the one,” answered Chessa.

“Princess. Are you ok?” Worry clouded her governess’s face.

“Yes, it’s a metaphor Rina. I’m not dreaming of executions.”

Katarina shuddered. Chessa laughed.

The princess tried to explain. “It’s like when you love someone so much you are utterly at their mercy. You have no defense. His words are so sad. I want to cry. But in a good way.”

Katarina still looked doubtful.

Chessa felt a thump behind her and she knew the door had been thrown open. It was Malitza, the elegant court mage. She was a stunning woman with dark brown skin and short shorn hair. She was tall, regal, and commanding with a silken black gown clinging to her body from neck to toe. Her breathing looked a bit labored, like she had been rushing.

“Her father is on his way.” She said, and pointed at Chessa.

Chessa jumped up and handed her parchment to Katarina, who rolled it up and slid it into the pockets of her dress. Then Katarina produced and unrolled a different parchment. This one was covered with sketches of family coats of arms and lists of royal names in Chessa’s handwriting.

Katarina turned back to Malitza. “And?” she signed. Malitza looked regretful. “I’m sorry love, I tried. I really tried. But you know him.”

“Ok. I’ll see you later tonight,” signed Katarina. Malitza whisked away and closed the door. It was like she’d never been there.

“Why does she never want to be seen with us?” Asked Chessa.

“Just by the king, princess. Just by the king.”

Just then, Kazimir strolled in flanked by several bobbing servants and a guard, whose armor clanked as he walked. The king wore golden brocade and an air of superiority. He looked around the room as though it were an inspection. Then he looked at Chessa.

“Princess.” Said the king.

Katarina started to sign and Kazimir waved her away.

“Halt that flapping at once.” He said. “The princess is perfectly capable of reading my lips.”

Katarina’s face stayed placid. “Yes, your majesty.”

“I’ve told you before,” he snarled. “Stop testing me.”

“Yes my king. My apologies.” Katarina bowed low.

Kazimir sniffed and turned to his daughter.

“I have wonderful news for you, princess. I have located someone to do the operation. By next week, you will have full hearing capacity. And then we can arrange a suitable marriage for you.”

“Father.” Chessa knew her voice sounded a little different from others, but she also knew she was perfectly understandable. “Please. I don’t want this. I’m fine the way I am. And I know people die from operations.”

“Oh, dying in operations, that’s for the poor. We have the best doctors. You are from strong stock. Prepare yourself. The operation will go forward tomorrow.”

“Can’t we at least wait until after the festival?”

“Nonsense,” said the king. “I want you fixed for the festival.”

Chessa’s shoulders drooped. Her father continued.

“Also, I am here to warn you. A witcher will be visiting court tomorrow. Witchers look like men more or less, but are dangerous beasts with mutations that make them an affront to god. So dress in subdued colors and stay silent. Stay away from him and you’ll be safe.”

“If he is so dangerous father, why is he coming here?” Asked Chessa. She knew it sounded like she was talking back, which he hated. But he answered anyway.

“Because we have a bruxa loose in the forest and sometimes you need a monster to kill a monster.”

Chessa nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Good.” Said Kazimir. He spun and left the room, his anxious retinue clattering out behind him.

Chessa sat quietly. Katarina walked over to her and put one hand on her shoulder and stroked her hair with the other. Her governess leaned down and kissed the top of her head. She felt a tear threaten to drop from her eyes. She only had one day. Katarina pulled back and signed to her,

“Everything will be fine princess, you’ll see. Now here,” she tapped on the parchment and placed the quill back in Chessa’s hand “finish your perfectly gruesome drawing.”

But Chessa had seen in Katarina’s face that she was scared. And Chessa had never seen Katarina scared.

**Geralt**

As Geralt progressed towards the closest town, he heard travelers approaching around the bend. They were so loud, he had ample time to check his surroundings and prepare himself. The day was clear. Visibility was good. The grasses along the path were low. There were boulders strewn around that could function as cover, were danger to befall him. When they did come into sight, Geralt relaxed.

The entire party looked like a mass of drunken peacocks carrying musical instruments. The travelers wore brightly colored embroidered clothing that involved puffy breeches and several absurd feathered hats. There were three of them in an open wagon pulled by a pair of donkeys. They were singing with zeal and Geralt had not needed his enhanced witcher senses to suss out the smell of ale.

Before he had a chance to greet them, one of the men in the front shouted at him. The man was bald and burly and looked more like an iron ore miner than a musician, except for the alert mustache and a crushed purple velvet jacket.

“Good citizen! Would you like a song!?” The man swept his arms open in a gesture of exaggerated showmanship. At that very moment he hiccuped, immediately killing any sense of drama that had survived his wobbly delivery.

“It doesn’t seem as though I have a choice,” Geralt shouted back. He probably should have been more charming. Maybe they knew where Jaskier was. Not that he was looking for the bard, who surely wanted nothing to do with him and was certainly better off without him.

“Come now, a request perhaps?” the man continued unfazed.

“Wait a second!” called a second traveler from the back of the wagon. A dark haired woman with full red stained lips stood up, legs wobbling and eyes squinting at Geralt. “Get closer, Boris!”

“What do you think I’m doing, woman?” he answered good-naturedly. The rickety cart and its two donkeys came to a stop in front of Geralt. Now Geralt could see that the woman was cinched into and spilling out of a bright corset and had a broad smile that made him want to smile too.

“Yes!!” the woman cried. “That’s the witcher! The one from the song! He’s Jaskier’s man.”

There was a collective cry from the wagon. Geralt’s heart leapt. He hoped he hadn’t flushed. Witchers didn’t flush right?

As though on cue, they all burst into song and a stringed instrument and cymbals joined in.

“WHEN A HUMBLE BARD GRACED A RIDE ALONG WITH GERALT OF RIVIA..”

Geralt couldn't help himself. He gave a tiny nod at his name as he folded his arms across his chest. A sharp mix of pride, grief, and something else he could not identify welled in him. He wanted them to never stop singing but also to shut the fuck up right fucking now. He felt special. He felt like an asshole. It was a lot. So he just waited until they finished.

“Ay what do you think, witcher?” said the man who was apparently Boris.

“It was...satisfactory,” Geralt said in his low gravely voice. He had meant to be more generous. Why didn’t charm come easily to him like it did Jaskier? You would think that in twenty years with the man, some of it would have rubbed off on him. Thankfully the group cared most for pleasing themselves, and by that standard the song had been a smashing success.

“No one sings it like your own bard, we know,” said the woman, laughing.

Geralt’s spirits lifted a little with her loud free laugh.

“My name is Zophia, this is Boris, and this is Filip.” The men nodded and waved amiably. Boris was the miner looking fellow. Filip was a thin pretty man with a delicate face. Then Zophia looked around. “Wait. Where is Jaskier?”

“Hmmm.” (*ugh goddamnit)

Zophia looked at Geralt as though waiting for more than one singular grunt. When she realized there were no actual words forthcoming she continued.

“Did you lose him? How could you lose someone so loud? And brightly colored. You have to make him wear a feather in his hat. The bigger the better. You can always find him that way.” she was slurring a little. She plopped back down on the bench.

“You know Jaskier, I take it,” said Geralt.

“Yes, of course, witcher. We’ve played many a show together. I’m also a bard, I play the lute. Filip here,” Filip raised a flask “plays the harp and the violin. And Boris,” Boris burped “Plays the cymbals and timbrel.”

Geralt nodded. Zophia paused again and when she realized he would not be speaking, she kept going.

“Jaskier and I have written quite a few duets together,” she said brightly. “He’s a lovely chap. And you’ve lost him?”

“Zoph, Jaskier has gone to enroll himself in the festival I’m sure of it,” said the man named Filip. He was much quieter than the other two but Geralt didn’t have to strain to hear him. Witcher sense and all that. “I think he’s going to win the whole thing. It’s his year.”

“The festival?” asked Geralt.

“Or he’s been kidnapped!” said Boris. Geralt tensed a little.

No one noticed that Geralt had finally said actual words.

“In which case, you’ll only need to wait a day or two and they’ll run right back begging you to take him off your hands.” Boris continued. They roared with laughter.

“He looks sweet but don’t be fooled,” laughed Zophia.

“He _is_ exactly how he _looks_ ,” muttered Geralt to himself.

“He didn’t tell you about the festival?” asked Zophia. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Just tell me where he is,” said Geralt, perhaps more loudly than he had intended.

“Aren’t you worried another witcher is going to snatch him up Geralt of Rivia?” Teased Boris. Filip smacked him on the leg but he continued unabashed. “After all, his songs have made you the most in demand witcher on the continent. Maybe another man will want the kind of fame and money afforded by a good bard.”

“HEYYYY” cried Zophia in raucous agreement. Boris clashed his cymbals on an enthusiastic beat.

Apart from children, bards were the next most receptive group to Geralt of Rivia’s reputation rehabilitation. They all knew one another and were proud of each other’s accomplishments. Right about now Geralt was feeling some nostalgia for the days when they were intimidated by him.

“I don’t care about that,” said Geralt.

“The bard? Or the money?” needled Zophia.

Geralt did not know what to say so he just stared at her and huffed a petulant hmmmm.

Zophia sighed dramatically. “They never appreciate us until we’re gone.”

“Oh leave him be, you lot of degenerates,” said Filip. “I’ll give you the story. The music festival is in Dol Blathanna. King Kazimir struggle with his popularity these days. He’s seized a lot of land from working folks. But instead of treating them fairly, once a year he tries to bribe his citizenry with a good time. It’s called the Festival of the Valley of Flowers. They have a huge purse for the winner, bragging rights, fame, a permanent spot at court…you don't have to pay for drinks the rest of your days. It’s where we’re going.”

“It’s late though, so we’ll stay in Posada first,” said Zophia. “Join us! We have ale! And when you get there, you can apologize and get your bard back. See? Every problem solved,” said Zophia.

Geralt nodded and drew Roach along their wagon matching pace. Solve his problem. Yes. He would solve his problem. He would just tell Jaskier he hadn’t meant what he said. Of course he hadn’t! It isn’t like anyone forced him to be friends with Jaskier for so many years. That had to be proof of it. He’d gotten Jaskier jobs, saved his life, showed his friendship in many ways. This would be fine. He felt the pressure easing. His spirits lifting. He accepted a flask.

Geralt didn’t drink much on the trip, but hearing the familiar plucking of the lute and the harmonies of the musicians calmed his nerves so he stuck with them the entire way. 

Once they arrived in Posada, he had actually begun to enjoy their company somewhat. So he joined them at the tavern before checking into a room. He elbowed his way to the bar, and caught the attention of a barmaid. After ordering and finding a seat, he was feeling a little more optimistic. There was no reason he couldn’t fix this. But then something caught his eye behind the bar. A very familiar lute leaned up against a back wall. A lute that had leaned next to his pack in encampments and danced in front of his eyes during performances. A sense of dread settled over him. Jaskier would never abandon his lute. Sometime was wrong. He waved the barmaid back over.

“Do you know who left this? This is my bard’s lute and he would never just leave this unprotected.”

“I don’t know, sir. If you want to wait, you can ask Jakub. He’s probably out front right now bringing in extra wine barrels. All these bards can really drink you out of house and home.”

Geralt had stopped listening because he was storming outside. He saw a man who looked like a barkeeper, towel fastened to his belt and sleeves rolled up. He was unloading wine barrels.

Geralt walked right up to him. If he had been paying attention he would’ve noticed he was too close. Most people would be deeply uncomfortable with an angry witcher this close to their person.

“You!” He growled low. ”Someone gave you a lute. It is leaning up against the wall of your tavern. Jaskier would never leave it unattended. Not with strangers. Is he safe? Where is my bard?”

The man looked a guilty. He swallowed. The barrel he was holding began shaking and the wine splashing. Geralt was losing patience.

“Where the fuck is my bard?”


	2. You Look Like I Need a Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is drawn into a monster hunt in Posada by farmers in distress who are looking for a witcher but found instead a bard. After the hunt, Jaskier sees a familiar face (well, technically, a familiar bum). King Kazimir reveals that he has other plans for Geralt. 
> 
> “I am sorry Lena,” said Jaskier, “I would love to help, but I am just the bard. I’m afraid I’d do more harm than good. But your men sound like a capable lot. Let me know if you need a song to praise your success when you do kill the little shit!” 
> 
> “Fine.” the woman said. Jaskier smiled, lifted his glass, and turned again to flag down the barkeeper. The woman beat him to it. She leaned over the bar and shouted. “Jakub! I need a few extra torches. You have any in the back? We have a nasty shelob cornered in the storm cellar. We’re going to try to burn it.”
> 
> Jaskier closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. He knew he was going to regret this.
> 
> “Ma’am. You don’t want to do that.”

**Malitza**

As much as Malitza detested King Kazimir, being in court felt like being in her element. Malitza was the daughter of a highly ranked royal advisor and spent her life in ostentatious, cavernous rooms like this. Rooms where you learn early to compartmentalize your feelings. Rooms where you never tip your hand. She could turn her emotions and expressions off like she was extinguishing a candle. That is how she had survived. And she was currently putting those survival skills to good use.

“I’ve made up my mind Malitza. Your nagging grows tiresome, “ said Kazimir. The king was sprawled across an ornate throne on the elegantly appointed dais. He waved dismissively.

“My king,” said Malitza “I am your mage. It is my duty to tell you the truth. The experiment is a rank superstition. It will fail.” She was poised and contained. Her voice was strong and sure. The only part of her that betrayed anger was her eyes. But the king didn't see it because he never looked at her eyes. He only looked at his reflection in them. 

“It’ll work. And if not, so what? What would I lose? One witcher? Foul beasts that they are,” he said. He wrinkled his nose when he said ‘witcher’ as though the word itself stank. “One simpering bard writes an insufferable song and people forget. Witchers are abominations.” 

“But what of diplomacy majesty?” asked Malitza. “There are few witchers left. Without them every kingdom would be forced to fight monsters without them. Would the other Lords be so understanding?”

Kazimir snorted. “Other Lords will understand perfectly. Making an advantageous match for your daughter is how you preserve your kingdom. And no one will want Chessa as she is. Afflicted.”

At that, Malitza did feel the tiny flame inside her rebel with a flicker. But she quelled it. Kazimir stood up and accommodated his ornate coat. Then he came close to Malitza, placing one hand on her shoulder and running it down the silk sleeve of her emerald gown. She didn’t even need to suppress her twitches anymore. She was used to him touching her as he wished.

“We need to stop relying on those mutations anyway. The sooner we break our contemptible dependency on them the better. We have mages. What good are mages if you can’t kill a few measly monsters?”

Malitza’s voice continued regal and measured. “Knowledge of the bestiary is a life long study, your grace. And combat against them is an art form. Witchers are enhanced precisely for that purpose.”

Kazimir chuckled. “You are so serious." He touched her chin. “I have full confidence in your ability to handle a monster or two. Also,” he continued with pride, “your king has a second strategy if it does fail.”

“A second strategy? You haven't spoken of it,” said Malitza.

“And why would I? I do not share everything with you, mage. But witchers are the key to curing Chessa. If not this experiment, there are others. Witchers have perfected experimentation to strengthen the senses.”

“Surely you aren’t referring to the Trial of the Grasses?” said Malitza.

“Oh mage. You need to trust me. And in the unlikely event none of the treatments work, I’ll send Chessa to Aretuza. I have already summoned Tissaia de Vries from her dreadful...school. She arrives tonight.”

“I am surprised you would send Chessa to be a mage.” said Malitza.

Kazamir laughed. “I never would! She would be useless as a mage. No offense dear.” 

“Then why send her?” asked Malitza.

“They transform girls there! Didn’t you used to be plain? Now look at you. Stunning. Exotic.” Kazimir stepped back from Malitza, gesturing at her body, then taking her hand to twirl her in a circle. 

“My lord, Tissaia would never agree to take Chessa for the sole purpose of a physical transformation.”

“Ahhhh” said Kazimir dismissively, “Tissaia doesn’t need to know Chessa won’t actually serve as a mage.”

“More importantly, that ritual is our choice. Tissaia would not force her.” 

“Tissaia won’t have to. I will. Then Chessa will be fit for marriage. And as a bonus, when she is normal, I won’t have to watch her flit around with that governess. They are always speaking with their hands so I cannot understand them. In my own court! The impudence is appalling. I should throw that governess in the stocks the minute she is useless.”

“Your majesty…” said Malitza. The flame roared to life but she ignored it. She almost felt that she had split into two different people. The one smiling at king Kazimir, and the one strangling him and telling him to stay the fuck away from Katarina.

“Oh Malitza. My mind is made up. When I say I no longer require your counsel, then it is your duty to shut the fuck up.” 

Malitza blinked and she allowed a look of irritation settled on her face.

“Oh come on dear.” Kazimir reached out for the mage. 

“I shall take my leave then your majesty,” said Malitza and turned to leave.

Kazimir spoke to her retreating back. “And you will not reveal this to Tissaia. She may be your old head mistress but I am your king. And if you enjoy being alive you will remember that.’

Malitza turned briefly and nodded. “Of course your majesty.” Then she swept from the room. However, once she had cleared the doors, she backed against the wall and listened. She needed every shred of information she could get during times such as these.

“Ivan, Is the plan clear to your men?” asked Kazimir loudly.

A man in armor rushed to the throne. Malitza knew he’d be scraping and bowing.

“Yes, your majesty. We are prepared and we will not fail.”

“Good, good.”

Another man who had been standing by the door spoke up. It was Leon, Kazimir’s advisor.

“Sir, if I may?”

“Approach.”

“One minor detail your grace.”

“Yes?”

“I was reviewing the list and noticed that we invited Julian Alfred Pankratz to compete in the festival. It may be simpler if we do not invite the witcher’s dearest friends into our walls at this delicate time.”

“Oh yes, that’s his bard, I remember now. Well that’s an easy one to fix. Revoke the invitation. I love the simple problems. It makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something. Any other business?

“No sir.”

“Good. Let’s get this over with.” Kazimir slapped his hands together and rose. Malitza swiftly departed.

**Jaskier**

The small rickety tavern was packed with people passing through Posada for the festival at Dol Blathanna. There were singers, musicians, and fans. There were vendors and artists of all kinds hoping to capitalize on the production. Jaskier was sitting on a bar stool just getting that blessed buzz. That one where you have all of your faculties but also feel warm and friendly. It was the first time in weeks that he had felt anything other than grief. And if a little beer helped a little, surely a lot of beer would help a lot. He just made sure to keep his body facing away from that little corner table he had stood in front of the day Geralt brooded into his life. He waved down the barkeeper. Jaskier had spent enough time in Posada over the years that he knew the man.

“Ale if you please, Jakub.”

“Right away bard.” Within a minute, Jakub dropped a tankard of ale down in front of Jaskier. Jakub was solid man with a salt and pepper beard. Like any experienced barkeeper, he knew how to listen. It also meant that he read body language like a psychic matchmaking mage and had clocked Jaskier’s feelings for Geralt years ago.

“Where’s the Witcher?” He asked conversationally. “I haven’t seen his grim mug yet.”

Jaskier worked hard to keep his face from falling.

“I don’t know Jakub. We’ve parted way.” Said Jaskier. He may as well just rip the bandage off. He tried to ignore everything that ripped off with it.

“Oh I’m sorry to hear it bard. You’re a friendly lad though, strapping, very popular. I’m sure you’ll shake it right off.”

“Of course. I’m Jaskier, after all. I’m the saint of the paint that was left in the pot.”

Jakub leaned in. “You’ve left a trail of broken hearts yourself. Look who’s come back for seconds." The barkeeper leaned his head subtly towards a woman at the end of the bar. "And she’s not nearly as scary as your witcher.” 

Jaskier would normally argue with someone who called Geralt scary, but he didn't have the energy. Anyway he had a buzz to cultivate. Jaskier nodded at a woman at the end of the bar. She waved.

“Shall I send her a pint for you?”

“Later, Jakub.” Said Jaskier.

“Oi, don’t look like that. You can’t be that sad. You’ve bedded more people than all of us put together.”

Jaskier smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Losing Geralt (more accurately, Geralt saying he hated him and to fuck off) had obliterated him emotionally. He just felt fucking sad and alone all the time. But there was no point in saying it. No one would believe him. Why did people equate sexual freedom with shallow emotional capacity? He was too tired to argue.

“I’m just preserving my strength good man. I’ve received a personal invitation from King Kazimir to perform in the festival. I have a prime spot in the evening on the final night.”

“Oh you gonna perform that toss a coin one?”

Jaskier stomach squeezed.

“Maybe. But I have several new songs.”

“How are you going to get new songs without traveling with the witcher?” Asked Jakub. Jaskier knew the barkeep was just making conversation but gods it stung. He had been with Geralt so long, people didn’t even realize he could write songs that were very much not about Geralt of Rivia.

“I’m creative. Besides he isn’t the only witcher.” Jaskier wiggled his eyebrows and tried hard to put a suggestive tone in his voice, but it sounded forced to him.

Jakub laughed though, so it must have worked.

“There he is,” said Jakub. “That’s more like it.” Another customer called on Jakub, and he left to attend them. Jaskier was relieved. He lifted his tankard and drank deeply.

Jaskier took a few steadying breaths and a few more unsteadying drinks. He tried to reclaim the decent mood he had been building before Jakub had reminded him of Geralt. He remembered that at least he looked exquisite. Jaskier had spent all of his money on a luxurious maroon embroidered costume to wear for his performance. It was the performance of a lifetime, after all. He had put on the outfit this evening and topped it off with a feathered cap just to cheer himself up. And now he was about to order some roasted fatty pork and fresh baked bread. His mouth was already watering. Things were going to be fine. He was going to be fine.

“Hey fella. You Jaskier? The white wolf’s bard?” asked a voice at his elbow.

Bollocks. Jaskier turned to see a middle aged woman in a shawl and rough linen dress. Her face was creased with worry.

“Hello ma’am.” said Jaskier. “How do you know my name? Are you a fan?” 

“You announced yourself at the city gates.” answered the woman. “You shouted ‘Jaskier, the greatest bard in the continent graces your land!”

“Oh right.” said Jaskier.

“There was a trumpet,” she continued, "it was rather loud.”

“Yes, yes. Ok. What can I do for you, good lady?” Jaskier asked with as much gallantry as he could muster. He didn’t actually want to do anything for her. What he wanted was to eat roast pork with gravy and not think about Geralt of Rivia. But sometimes you don’t get what you want.

“Sir, I need the witcher. Is he nearby?”

“I am so sorry my lady, he is not.” Jaskier said. He was relieved that his services would not actually be needed. He turned back to the bar and started to flag down Jakub. Had there been less ale in that tankard? It had gone fast. The woman took his arm and pulled him to face her again.

“Well can _you_ help me? I’m desperate. My name is Lena. I have a farm on the outskirts of town with my husband Frances. Today a shelob attacked our farm. It stung our boy. My husband and his brothers have managed to corner it, but I don’t know how much longer they can hold it.”

“I am sorry Lena,” said Jaskier, “I would love to help, but I am just the bard. I’m afraid I’d do more harm than good. But your men sound like a capable lot. Let me know if you need a song to praise your success when you do kill the little shit!” 

“Fine,” the woman said. Jaskier smiled, lifted his tankard, and turned again to flag down the barkeeper. The woman beat him to it. She leaned over the bar and shouted. 

  
“Jakub! I need a few extra torches. You have any in the back? We have a nasty shelob cornered in the storm cellar. We’re going to try to burn it.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. He knew he was going to regret this.

“Ma’am. You don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?” she asked. 

“If the boy has been stung, you’re going to need its venom to cure him. How are you going to get it if you incinerate the thing?” he asked.

“I. I didn’t know,” said the woman, her distress growing. “You see? This is why we need you! Please bard, come help us! My son could die!”

“Oh he’s only paralyzed he’ll get over it in a few hours,” said Jaskier “almost certainly.” He muttered that last part into his ale.

“See, you know more than you’re letting on!” the woman was shouting now. “You could help my boy and you just don’t want to!!” 

Conversation around the bar hushed just enough to make Jaskier aware that people were now listening to them.

“Ma’am I swear that’s all I know. I really am just the bard.” 

Jakub came over to stand in front of them.

“Go help her, bard.” 

Jaskier looked at his ale and his shoulders slumped.

“Bollocks,” he said defeated.

“I’ll give you the best cut of pig in the house when you get back. An extra piece if you kill the shelob.”

Jaskier’s eyes brightened a bit. “Promise?”

“Yep. I won’t let anyone else touch it.”

Jaskier had already begun slinging his bag over his shoulder and sliding off the stool in surrender. He picked up his lute and held it towards Jakub. 

“I won’t let a shelob get near my beauty. Protect this with your life.”

“I will.” said the barkeeper.

As soon as Jaskier had vacated the stool, another bard wedged his way in and took it. 

“Come on!” Lena said and took him again by the arm. She was oblivious to his disappointment. She pulled on his arm to guide him out of the tavern.

“I’m coming.” said Jaskier and dejectedly. The smell of pork was getting fainter and fainter as they walked. 

“Keep up then,” she said.

They dashed through the streets in the twilight. It took the better part of an hour to reach the edge of town. Jaskier was sweaty and hot. He had just taken a bath and put on the most delicious fragrance. And now he’d have to do it all again. He bent a little to catch his breath and heaved out “Ma’am, I don’t want you to be disappointed. I truly told you all I know.”

But she wasn’t listening to him. “Come on! We’re so close.“

They walked down a dirt path with a sturdy but humble home built at the end. Jaskier followed her past the house around the back to a hole in the ground with a trap door flung open. Three men were standing at the opening with torches held into the hole. Jaskier could hear hissing noises over the fire crackling. That was definitely a shelob trapped in a cellar. 

“You were going to torch your own cellar?” asked Jaskier.

“It’s stone,” said the woman, “and replacing the food we burn would be better than the lot of us getting killed by this horrible thing.” Then she called out to her husband. “Sweetheart, the bard is here to help.”

The husband wore work breeches and had the thick limbs and hands of a man who worked the land. He had been intensely focusing on the hole but looked up just then. Jaskier watched his expression flicker from hope, to confusion, and finally disappointment. The two other men looked over then and collectively groaned. They managed to keep their torches pointed into the hole though.

“You said you were bringing the witcher!” he said, looking at Jaskier in his plumage, flushed from ale. “We have no need of a bard.” He glanced at Jaskier. “No offense.”

“None taken. That’s exactly what I told your lovely wife,” said Jaskier. It _was_ exactly what Jaskier had told her, yet the obvious disappointment of the men still stung. He wasn’t completely useless for god’s sake. He had spent decades tracking monsters with the most deadly witcher alive.

“He’s better help than none!” said the woman. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the hissing. “He’s traveled with the witcher for ages! And he knows the creature. He says not to burn it because we need the venom to cure Aleks.”

The man looked at Jaskier and hope bloomed once again in his eyes.

“Can you help us? And our little Aleks? He’s our only child. We would be in your debt.” 

  
Jaskier looked at the desperate faces of the two devoted parents. Something he didn’t feel often snaked into his gut. Cold terror. Not of the shelob. Jaskier had tracked and helped Geralt kill much more powerful monsters.

He was afraid because these two humans were looking at him. Jaskier instinctively looked behind him over each shoulder. Yep. They were looking at him. They were staking their farm and their only child on him. Jaskier was very good at saving his own skin. Surviving was second nature. He could do that. But this? If he failed these people would be destitute. Heartbroken. Their lives would be ruined. 

“Well?” Lena asked. Jaskier realized he had frozen but he still couldn’t move. “Well?’ she asked again, only this time her voice broke. That snapped Jaskier into motion.

The bard shrugged off his bag and took off his rich, supple jacket. It had cost about what he made in a month. He folded it and dashed a few feet away to lay it on a stump. The hisses and shrieks of the shelob continued to waft out of the cellar. Jaskier dashed back to where his bag was laying. He reached in and pulled out his sword, removing it from the scabbard. It was a light sword, more manageable than the ones Geralt carried, but it cut just like any other. The sword had the witcher symbol engraved on the handle. It had been a gift from Geralt. Geralt had loved him enough to let him bear his symbol. But Geralt didn't want him anymore. 

Looking back, Jaskier wouldn’t ever be able to explain what he did next. He walked over and stood a few feet behind the burly farmers. “Alright fellas, let it out.”

“Wait!” said one of the men. “What are you going to do? Do you actually know how to kill this thing?”

“Well,” replied Jaskier. “I’m going to use the sharp end to detach this ugly fucker’s head from its shoulders. I find that does the trick in most situations.”

“Are you sure?” asked the woman.

“Definitely.” Said Jaskier. But he was not sure. He was very _not_ fucking sure.

“Ok then,” said the husband. He turned and shouted to his brothers “On the count of three, stand aside! If you have to run, RUN AWAY FROM THE HOUSE. One!...

Jaskier squared his shoulders and raised the sword.

“Two!..”

Jaskier breathed a quick prayer.

“Three!” shouted the man. All three men lowered their torches and leapt away from the cellar. The shelob burst from the hole in the ground, all eight manic eyes looking around. It settled on Jaskier, who was waving his sword and shouting.

“Oi! Come here you spiny son of a spiderly whore!” Maybe it wasn’t his best work as far as insults go but he was under a good deal of stress.

The shelob darted straight for him. It only took a second, but for Jaskier, that second lasted a lifetime. The mass of skittering legs, the dripping venom, the clicking jaws, all barreling straight for him. The venom may only paralyze, but after paralysis, the shelob would whisk him away to her web and devour him whole. He suddenly pictured himself in her maw begging for mercy. God he wished Geralt were here.

Jaskier swung for its neck but missed. THUNK the shelob tackled him. His head hit the rocky ground. Lena was screaming, but he didn’t hear her. The shelob’s limbs were pounding his face and wrestling his arms to the ground. There were so many of them. Jaskier twisted his body and managed to pull his knees up to his chest and kick out with both legs. That bought him enough room to stab the shelob right in its goey belly. It shrieked and the momentary respite was all he needed to roll over onto the squirming thing, straddle it, and swing his sword at its neck. The first hack didn’t finish the job, so he hacked and hacked. Black ooze splattered his face and body every time he plunged the sword into the creature’s neck. When the shelob’s thrashing had calmed to a twitch, he stood up and stepped off of it. He turned to face the farmers. They stood agape. He squatted and wiped the sword clean on a cloth from his bag, and then placed it back in the scabbard.Jaskier rubbed his hands across his face to smear the black away from his eyes.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he examined the goo coating his hands. “She’s down. She’s dead.”

“What do we do now?” asked the woman? “To cure my boy?”

Jaskier stayed just long enough to demonstrate the proper venom extraction technique and to show Lena how to mix the antidote. They offered to host him for the night, but he just wanted to get back to his dinner and bed at the inn. Lena tried to treat his wounds but he waved her away. He did pour several cold buckets of water over himself to get off most of the goo, then he accepted some discolored ill fitting clothing to wear back to the tavern. He hated being seen in such a state but he’d just go in for a few moments and ask Jakub to pass him his dinner. His luxe costume was ruined, but when he saw the little boy wiggle his legs and Lena cry in relief, Jaskier didn’t feel as devastated as he thought he would. Lena gave him a big hug.

“If money for songs dries up you could kill beasts for hire.” She was smiling.

“Oh no. No thank you. I’ll stick to ballads,” he replied. He never again wanted to feel like the only thing standing between a monster and a dead child. It dawned on him how Geralt must feel. Every day. Every town. Succeed or people die. Awful. Jaskier decided that he preferred being a team player.

When Jaskier arrived back at the tavern, four hours had passed. The party was still raging inside. From outside he could see more colorful costumes and instruments crammed into the tiny tavern. He’d just go in for a few minutes, then leave for bed.

As he approached the door, Jaskier heard something that stopped him cold in his tracks. 

“Where the fuck is my bard?” said a familiar voice.

And in front of him was a sight he knew better than his own lute. It was the back of a man with long white hair. The man’s shoulders were sturdy and wide, and he had two swords strapped to his back. He was wearing tight black pants that highlighted an extremely distinctive ass. Jaskier had walked behind that ass for years. He had rubbed chamomile on that ass. Oh gods. Jaskier’s chest was tight. He couldn’t do this right now.

For weeks now he had been looking for Geralt around every corner. Even though he swore he was done with the witcher, he’d been announcing himself at ever city to help Geralt find him. Hope had overtaken him every time he had caught a glimpse of white hair. 

But whenever Jaskier had fantasized about running into Geralt it wasn’t like this. In his fantasies, Jaskier was at his best. Jaskier was dashing. Rested. In his fantasies he was wearing his most flattering costumed tailored within an inch of its life highlighting his best features. Which, let’s be honest, was every feature. In these fantasies, his clothes were green or blue, as those colors brought out the flecks in his eyes. Jaskier would be regal and mature and alluring. In these fantasies he would be gorgeous, and it would eat Geralt up inside.

Perhaps Jaskier's arms would be wrapped around another witcher. Maybe that burly brunette with the face scars, yes. Geralt would instantly apologize. He would say he couldn’t live without Jaskier. He would beg him to come back. Jaskier would tell him he was done. He was no longer accepting the witcher’s crumbs. Well, in other fantasies, Geralt would actually admit that he loved him and Jaskier would tumble into bed with him. But those all turned into very different kinds of fantasies.

And yet. Geralt was here, and Jaskier was standing in the street emotionally exhausted, hungry, and bedraggled. He hadn’t seen his own face yet but he could tell it was bruised and scraped. And he was wearing what basically amounted to shapeless pajamas. No. This was not going to happen right now. Jaskier turned to sneak away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I stole Shelob from LOTR and basically made it a monster species instead of the name of one particular spider. 
> 
> Also, there are a few The Amazing Devil easter eggs. Yes I'm obsessed. Please respect my privacy during this sensitive time.


	3. Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier finally bump into each other in Posada. Geralt tries to make things right but he sees Jaskier is injured (from the shelob) and the witcher overreacts. And sweet Melitele's tit, but Geralt is so bad at this. 
> 
> “Geralt. I am fine.” said Jaskier, more firmly. His tone was one that a mother would use when telling a child to calm down. It irked Geralt.
> 
> “Oh?” said Geralt and touched Jaskier’s shoulder with a gentle poke of one finger. He looked at Jaskier defiantly.
> 
> Jaskier sucked air in his teeth and pulled away, clutching his shoulder.
> 
> “Horse’s ass,” Jaskier said with irritation.
> 
> “I knew it. You're lying. You are not fine,” said Geralt. He took a breath and said with forced calm, “Tell me who did this I just want to discuss the matter with him.”

Jakub looked around his noisy tavern.He noticed that Jaskier hadn’t returned yet. The barkeeper was beginning to doubt the wisdom of pushing the bard to fight the shelob. Bribing Jaskier with his best dish, renowned regionally, was not exactly playing fair. The bard was a dramatic and conceited fellow but he was also a good man and perhaps ill equipped for the challenge. Jakub was starting to feel guilty. He hoped the man hadn’t been torn apart by the awful thing. But the tavern was so packed with travelers that Jakub didn’t have time to think too deeply about it. 

He was out of wine. Bloody hell these bards could drink.Jakub had called for help and a delivery boy was bringing his barrel around the back. So the barkeeper stepped from the stifling body heat of the tavern and into the cool of the night in the alley between his tavern and the shoemakers shop.It smelled like piss back here.Bunch of drunken sods. He couldn’t deny their money was good though. The missus was going to be happy with him tomorrow.Jakub took his wine barrel and began rolling it towards the door. He had forgotten all about Jaskier by then. Until he had a large witcher in all black, looming between him and the tavern.

Jakub stopped rolling the barrel and straightened. The Butcher of Blaviken himself stood before him, tension in every muscle. 

“My bard’s lute is behind your bar.Where is he?” The witcher asked in that quiet way that turned up every hair on Jakub’s neck. He had never understood how such a merry chap like Jaskier had not run screaming from him. They were an odd pair indeed. But like they say, opposites attract. 

“A lute? Behind my bar?” He stammered.

Geralt walked closer. To Jakub he seemed like a large scarred panther prowling towards him.He swallowed hard.

“Yes. And he wouldn’t just leave it laying around.” Said Geralt. “So where the fuck is my bard?” 

** Geralt **

The barkeeper looked nervous. He rubbed his arms and shifted his weight. It made Geralt more suspicious. Was he hiding something? He stepped closer to the man but promptly fell back again when his senses were flooded. He looked around. Mulled wine. Cinnamon. Tangerines. Jaskier. 

Geralt immediately forgot about Jakub and began lookingfrantically for the source of the scent. The poor barkeeper took the opportunity to grab his barrel and hustle back into the tavern. Geralt finally saw him.A figure just yards away in the shadow turning to leave. He knew that figure. The way it turned. The way it moved.It’s shape. The mop of tousled brown hair. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt called and hurried towards the figure. As he drew closer he could see that it was him. 

“Bard.” he said. “You’re ok.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Asked Jaskier, sounding distracted. He was still inching away.

“I saw your lute in the bar. You left it with strangers.”

“They aren’t strangers, Geralt.Jakub has owned this tavern for years. He serves us every time we pass through Posada.”

“Well. I’m glad you’re ok.”

Geralt rarely hugged people impulsively. As a rule, Geralt showed his affection in less obvious ways. But seeing Jaskier broke down floodgates of relief. The shame, the grief, the aching yawning loss, it could all be over.Jaskier was ok, and he could be ok now too. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier and drew him in tight.

Jaskier usually drifted towards any incidental touch from Geralt. Whenever they brushed against each other by the fire, treated each other’s wounds, or had to huddle for warmth it was always the same. Jaskier leaned, shuffled, slid over to reach Geralt’s touch, like a bloom stretching towards the sun. 

But instead of melting into this hug, Jaskier squirmed backwards. Oh right. In his excitement and relief in seeing the bard safe, Geralt had momentarily forgotten what a right bastard he’d been the last time they’d seen each other. But he could make it right now. But then he heard what sounded like a pop, and Jaskier, who was crushed next to his ear said, 

“Ow Geralt. Fucking Hell. That hurts. Ow ow ow.” Geralt dropped his arms quickly and Jaskier drew back, breathing deeply and clutching one shoulder. 

Geralt read Jaskier’s body language and the worry from earlier slammed back into him. Something was wrong. Jaskier was injured. Geralt gently placed both of his strong hands onto Jaskier’s waist to gently maneuver him towards the light of the tavern lamps. 

“Let me see,” said Geralt in a quiet voice that almost sounded like a hum. “Are you hurt?” 

Jaskier flinched again. So he was bruised there too. Geralt took Jaskier’s hands instead to pull him towards the light. He didn’t notice he had taken Jaskier’s hands. His eyes were laser focused on Jaskier’s face.

“I’m fine Geralt. I’m completely fine.” Jaskier said. He sounded dismissive but Geralt was not convinced. 

“Hmmmmm.” (*I’ll see about that)

He loosed Jaskier’s hands and took the bard’s chin to slightly tilt his face towards the light.Geralt drew in a breath. Seeing the lantern light catch in Jaskier’s eyes, he was caught by his bard’s beauty. It was like seeing a fresh morning after a storm. Yes, he’d seen the sun before, but he hadn’t appreciated it like this. 

Despite Jaskier pulling away from the initial crushing hug, Geralt could sense Jaskier leaning towards him now. Drawn to him as always. His scent warming. As it should be. He was close enough now that when Geralt breathed in, the only scent he inhaled was Jaskier.He was intoxicating. Geralt almost relaxed.

But when he fully took in Jaskier’s face, what he saw perturbed him. His bard’s face was beaten.There was no doubt about that. He had two black eyes, scrapes, and a puffy cheek.

“Fuck. What happened Jaskier!?” his voice dipped to a growl. The growl that frightened everyone. Everyone except Jaskier.

“Geralt. _I’m_ supposed to be the dramatic one, remember?” said Jaskier, quirking one eyebrow up at him. “You can stop your growling.You aren’t _literally_ a wild canine.” But Jaskier didn’t move Geralt’s hand from his face. He stood there, looking up at Geralt with his wide expressive eyes rimmed with thick lovely eyelashes. The eyes that were blackened. A sickening feeling of powerlessness seeped into Geralt. Saturating him.

“This is not nothing Jaskier. You have BLACK EYES. And a gash! Jaskier what the fuck happened? WHO DID THIS TO YOU?” Geralt’s face settled into a scowl.

People walking by in the alley gave them a wide berth.One woman grabbed her child and shoved him behind her skirts.

“Geralt. I am fine.” said Jaskier, more firmly. His tone was one that a mother would use when telling a child to calm down. It irked Geralt.

“Oh?” said Geralt and touched Jaskier’s shoulder with a gentle poke of one finger. He looked at Jaskier defiantly.

Jaskier sucked air in his teeth and pulled away, clutching his shoulder.

“Horse’s ass,” Jaskier said with irritation.

“I knew it. You're lying. You are not fine,” said Geralt. He took a breath and said with forced calm, “Tell me who did this I just want to discuss the matter with him.” 

However, he noticed that Jaskier’s expression had changed. The bard’s eyes flashed with irritation.Geralt understood a little too late that shouting at Jaskier and poking him had been a mistake. He had meant for the next time he saw Jaskier to be gentler. Conciliatory. But here he was screaming in his bard’s face again.

“What is wrong with you, you big buffoon,” said Jaskier, exasperated. “You don’t get to yell at me. You don’t get to be protective of me. That’s not something you get to do.”

“ _But I want to protect you_ ,” thought Geralt. 

Jaskier continued, on a roll now. “You should be _happy_ you are _finally_ rid of your _inferior_ traveling companion!!” He almost spit out the words ‘finally’ and ‘inferior.” Jaskier pushed past him towards the tavern door. 

Geralt remembered the other comment he’d made to Jaskier that day. When Tea had snapped a man’s neck for trying to steal his horse, Geralt had implied that Jaskier was an inferior travel companion.And Jaskier had responded to his unnecessarily bitchy comment by coming to him later to say he would try to be better. And Geralt hadn’t assured him. He’d just ignored him. Geralt remembered all of it. Yet when he opened his mouth, what he said was, 

“What do you mean?” He knew he sounded ridiculous. Jaskier whirled on him.

“Excuse me?” asked Jaskier. His voice raised to pitch probably only dogs and witchers could hear. “What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“Jaskier WE’LL TALK ABOUT THAT LATER, WHO DID THIS TO YOU.” Geralt yelled. A couple who had been approaching them in the alley skittered backwards and suddenly decided to take a different route home.

Jaskier’s hands settled on his hips. Even in ill fitting linens instead of his ornate costumes, it had the intended effect. Fed up. “Geralt, I was happy to see you until you started bellowing at me. You don’t get to come here and bully me into satisfying your need to bash someone’s head in. While I am weirdly comforted, I cannot do this right now. I am going in there, and I’m going to eat some goddamn roasted pig and some cheese and get proper drunk because this has been an exhausting evening. We can talk tomorrow.” Jaskier took a breath, looked satisfied, and walked away.

Geralt stood watching Jaskier walk away from him again. The bard opened the back door to the tavern. With the light of the tavern behind him, his soft white garments revealed the profile of his lithe form.Geralt suppressed the desire to reach under Jaskier’s shirt and stroke him. That was no good.So he just stood there because he didn’t know what else to do. 

He felt a hand on his arm. It was Zophia, her eyes sparkling and her hoop earrings and bangles catching in the lamplights.

“I heard that a wild witcher was bellowing in the alley, scaring the paying customers. Come on big guy. You look like you could use a drink.” 

Geralt grunted. Zophia insisted. “Let’s go,” she said. “No reason to stand out here looking like a lost lamb. At least have a few pints with us. You barely drank anything on the road.”

“A lamb?” said Geralt. That was definitely a new one. 

“I mean, if lambs had the strength of ten men and could kill you with a blade of grass,” she said and patted his arm. “That better?”

“Hmmmm.” (*yes)

Geralt followed her into the tavern. Of course their group had chosen  that  table. Of course they had. It was the corner table. The one Geralt had been sitting at when a bright eyed 18 year old bard had accosted him with nothing but liquid courage and bread in his pants. 

“Hmmmm.” (*displeased)

Zophia ignored his displeased noise and herded him to the table. Geralt took a chair where he still had a good view of the tavern. He ordered a drink and looked around.He tried not to make it obvious that he was looking around for Jaskier, but Zophia nudged him. 

“At the bar,” she said and nodded towards the back of Jaskier standing at the packed bar. Apparently, Geralt had been obvious despite his efforts. Now that he had his target in his sights, he openly stared at Jaskier. Searching his body for any other signs of injury.Watching his movements for any telltale signs of damage. His temper rose again.

“What the fuck did that to him? Who?” snarled Geralt, more to himself than anyone.

“I don’t know love, we got here the same time you did,” said Zophia.

Boris piped up. “Could he have found another witcher? One that is not so careful with him?”

Geralt glared at him.

“Boris, don’t be a cock,” sighed Filip. 

“Don’t listen to him dear,' said Zophia.

“Why do you treat him like a babe, woman? Witchers barely have feelings at all!” Boris protested.

“You fuckin moron. You're watching this big slab of man moon over a wounded bard and you have the nerve??”

“Jaskier is so flighty with his affections though.Wait long enough, he’ll cycle back to you, big guy.”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up Boris.Jaskier has traveled with Geralt for half of his life.What’s the longest commitment you’ve ever had, the one with your right hand, I’d wager.”

Boris looked suitably chastened.

The comment about the other, not so gentle witcher had done the trick though. Geralt’s rage had ratcheted up. He was steaming. He thought he had smelled the whiff of shelob on Jaskier. _Was_ there another witcher?He watched Jaskier, cataloguing his injuries and committing them to memory. He would remember to inflict those exact injuries on the man who had hurt Jaskier, or who had allowed him to be hurt and wander off without so much as treating his wounds. 

There was another bard standing up on the bar warbling and partially blocking his view of Jaskier. Geralt noted that he was not as good a singer as Jaskier, but otherwise, simply moved to keep his view of Jaskier clear. He watched the barkeeper bring Jaskier’s lute back to him. Jaskier tucked it safely under his legs. Then the barkeeper put a dinner down in front of Jaskier and Geralt saw the bard’s shoulders loosen a little. But just as Jaskier lifted his fork to his mouth, a greasy, ugly man (at least to Geralt’s eyes) in a green tunic slid up to the bar next to Jaskier. 

The man (dipshit, as Geralt had already named him) leaned in to Jaskier’s ear and said something. Geralt watched Jaskier’s body language carefully. The bard tensed. He pulled back but the press of bodies stopped him from putting much distance in between them.Dipshit then wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist and with a little yank, had Jaskier pressed up against him. Jaskier winced.

“He’s hurt, you asshole let go of him,” hissed Geralt under his breath. He had forgotten his companions existed. If looks could kill, dipshit would’ve dropped dead. 

“He can’t hear you from here, you know,” said Zophia.

Geralt continued to stare, transfixed. “Is he pressing his dick into him?” he snorted. 

Zophia leaned over. “Looks like it.”

The barmaid came over.

“What’ll you have this evening?”

Boris ordered a beer. Filip ordered wine. Zophia ordered a beer.Then they all stared at Geralt, who was still staring at Jaskier.

“He’ll have an beer too,” said Zophia. The barmaid nodded and moved on to the next table.

Geralt was still trained on Jaskier, watching the bard smile a large fake smile. The witcher knew it was the bard’s ‘performance’ smile. Jaskier dipped his head a bit and tried again to twist his body away from the man. But the tavern was too packed and dipshit squeezed him in tighter.

“He’s hurting him,” said Geralt angrily. It was like he was watching the most offensive theater production ever created. 

“Go talk to him,” said Zophia. “You can apologize. He’ll like that. He’ll forget all about that other moron.”

Geralt just grunted and kept watching.Next, Jaskier slipped his hands in between his body and dipshit, presumably to detach the man’s dick from his thigh. Geralt watched Jaskier, tired and bruised, putting up a good front. He boiled over. Geralt got up and stalked towards the bar.Zophia tried to grab him to slow him down. 

“I said TALK to him!” she yelled out to no avail. Geralt reached the bar.In one fluid motion, he grabbed dipshit’s head and smashed it down on the bar. The bar cracked. Jaskier looked up at him in shock. When the bar cracked, the man standing on the bar singing lost his footing. He tumbled down onto Jaskier, then rolled off of him onto a few other patrons.There was a crack as one of the patrons punched another in the confusion. Within seconds a melee had broken out in the tavern. Dipshit was scrambling away and bodies were crushing one other. 

Geralt took Jaskier by the uninjured arm and began leading him through the fray, around the bar, and towards the back entrance. He kept his other arm out and shoved away anyone who blocked them. It only took him a few minutes to push Jaskier into the night away from the violence of the tavern. 

Geralt closed the back door and turned to face Jaskier. Geralt wasn’t even winded.But he was anxious to make sure Jaskier was ok.

“Geralt!” shouted Jaskier.

Geralt started to quirk one side of his mouth into a smile.

“What the fuck did you do that for!?” said Jaskier, looking dazed.

Geralt’s smile fell.

“I was...helping you. You clearly didn’t want that lecherous dick pressing into you,” said Geralt, confused.

“And breaking his head was the best solution!!??” asked Jaskier, throwing his arms out wide to punctuate his point.

“It was. Effective?” Geralt replied, though it sounded more like a question. “He was ugly.” He folded his arms and tried to look resolute.

Jaskier took a deep breath.

“My dear witcher, not everyone can have a chin dimple and chiseled jaw and chiseled...” Jaskier’s eyes roamed down Geralt’s body. “everything.” Then he stopped himself. “That’s not the point.”

“But you clearly didn’t want him bothering you,” said Geralt. His cheeks burned. He wasn’t sure if it was from delight about the compliment or distress that he’d upset Jaskier.

“Geralt. Did it occur to you that I have been an extremely sexy bard for many years and as such, people throw themselves at me constantly?” Jaskier waved his hands about to stress the ‘constantly.’

“Well...”

“And THEREFORE I can ABSOLUTELY handle myself. WITHOUT starting a bar fight and without violence? Geralt I’m not helpless.”

“But,” said Geralt.

“You have always underestimated me.”

“No. I.” said Geralt.

“And Melitele, in her infinite cruelty, decided that today is not the day I get to savor Jakub’s famous Cormarye.” Jaskier finally looked down at his lute. His face slid into an expression of dejection. The anger drained from his voice. His shoulders slacked.

“My lute” he whispered. “It’s broken.” He sounded stricken.

Geralt had seen the man on the bar fall onto Jaskier but he thought he’d moved him in time to avoid any damage. 

“I’ll fix that. I have coin. We can find an artisan. We can wake him up. He can fix it quickly yes? The festival is in two days it’ll be...” Geralt was babbling now.

Jaskier looked up slowly. His eyes looked flat. He sounded gutted.

“Geralt. This festival is going to change my life. I’ve written more original songs to debut. If people like them, I won’t have to depend on songs I write about you. And I’ve received the greatest honor, an invitation from Kazimir himself to sing in it.”

“You don’t want to sing about me anymore?” said Geralt. 

Jaskier looked to the sky and groaned. “Oooo Geralt. The last time we spoke, you said you yearned to be rid of me. You don’t have the right to act like a rejected pup.”

“I’m not a pup.”

“Now you show up when I am about to give a performance that will change my life, and punch a fan that I could have handled myself, and now this.” Jaskier gestured helplessly to his lute.He looked bereft.

“I was. Trying to help you.” Geralt protested.

“Geralt in the past two weeks I have lost...” he gestured at the witcher “...my home.”

Geralt’s heart sunk. 

“Then my costume. And now my lute. Filavandrel’s lute. The lute I was gifted the day I met you. Every time I play it, it reminds me of being moved by your sincerity and courage such that the elves set us free.”

“So you  do remember the actual truth of what happened that day.” Geralt said, trying to be playful to maybe get a smile out of the bard. Jaskier kept talking as though he hadn’t heard.

“It reminds me of seeing you brooding in that corner for the first time.”

“You had bread in your pants,” interjected Geralt lamely.

“Well, I guess it was for the best then that this is the lute I break today. Poetic even,” said Jaskier.

“But what will you play for the festival?” Asked Geralt. He felt desperate.This entire day had left him feeling powerless.

“I’ll figure it out,” said Jaskier.

“Let me help,” said Geralt.

“Geralt.” When Jaskier said his name it usually sounded like a song. But now Jaskier just sounded tired. “I don’t need this kind of help, my darling witcher. Daring rescues. Violence. Grand gestures. They are so beautiful in songs. But life isn’t a song.”

Geralt gasped. Something was very wrong with his bard.

“Jaskier, why are we still fighting? I don’t understand.I was truly a horse’s ass. You know I didn’t mean it. You say it yourself, you are my best friend.”

Jaskier coughed. And scratched the back of his head.

“You really think that your one temper tantrum is what this is about?”

“Isn’t it? I was exceedingly cruel,” admitted Geralt.

“Yes. You were. But you’re right, a few cruel words in the long life of a friendship don’t matter much.”

“Then…?” Asked Geralt. Feeling lost. “Why are you angry?” 

“Why am I…??” Jaskier huffed out a sigh. “ Geralt. Don’t be obtuse.”

“I’m not—“

“Let’s be fucking honest then.” Jaskier drew closer.“Because I’m done dancing around it. I’m done worrying that I’m going to scare you off.”

”Dancing around what?”  


“Around how you look at me when you think I don’t see you."

Geralt instinctively averted his eyes. Jaskier snorted softly. Geralt looked back at him. Jaskier continued, holding his gaze.

“Around how at night when we’re huddled for warmth. Your hands. They wander. Yet when the morning comes. When other people are around. It’s fuck off bard. Your voice is like fillingless pie bard. You aren’t my friend Jaskier.” 

Geralt felt as though someone had peeled his clothes off. As though he were exposed to the elements. “I. Didn’t mean that.”

“Then why don’t you start saying what you mean, witcher?” Said Jaskier deliberately, each word a dare.

Silence.

“Your pie has filling.”

“Ye gods.” Jaskier threw up his hands. “See, I took this all as empty bravado because you’re terrified to be vulnerable. And I was fine. I was fine with it. I knew I was your friend. In my bones. And that’s what mattered.”

“Then?”

“Then, Geralt. You threw me out. And I had to face the truth. That I was not much more than a kid when I met you.I only knew about the giddy desperate conquest of trying to get a dick in my mouth or a comely pair of tits in my hands.But the minute I met you the colours of my life begun to pour. I’d never felt this way before.”

Geralt felt his mind go blank. He stared. “What are you saying?”

“I fell in love with you, Geralt. Yes. Me.The biggest whore on the continent in love.”

Geralt was hurtling through an abyss and he had no way of righting himself. No idea of how to extricate himself.

“You aren’t. That’s not fair.”

“That’s what people think. That’s what is implied.” Said Jaskier.

“People are idiots.Life is brutal. A moment of pleasure. Of forgetting. It is good for the soul. And you. You just fall in love with everyone. You have the heart of a poet.”

Jaskier drew even closer. “Don’t you fucking dare. I have to hear this from these imbeciles and now from you too? How I feel about you is different and you know it. If you admit it to yourself, you know it.”

“Is it though?” 

“I’ve loved you it feels like for as long as I’ve been alive. It’s not fair how much I love you. It’s not fair cos you make me ache you bastard.” Jaskier’s voice broke.

Geralt felt like he’d stopped breathing. He knew this was a moment that mattered.Just then dipshit burst out of the back door of the tavern. He was holding a cloth to his bleeding forehead. As he passed, he spit on the ground in front of Geralt.

“You prefer that monster to a real man. Disgusting.”

“I’ll teach you to call him a monster,” Jaskier snarled and lunged for him with both hands ready to throttle him. But Geralt was close enough that be was able to loop his arm around Jaskier’s chest and hold him by his shoulders tightly against himself. He wasn’t mistaken that he felt Jaskier ease a little into him and his scent spiked provocatively. Then the man was gone and Geralt let go.Jaskier fixed his tunic with short irritated motions. It was soft and loose and too big for him and his chest hair curled prominently above the open collar.And Geralt thought…that’s how he would look in one of my shirts.

“Oh now you want to be mature.” Said Jaskier, though he sounded a little less angry and a little more off kilter.

“I’m used to the insults. People are ignorant.” 

“That’s no excuse. Fuck that guy. I take what I said back, I’m glad you bashed his head in.”

Despite the interruption, Jaskier’s confession of love still hung in the air raw and tender.Geralt needed to put it away.Get them back to normal.Back to the way they were.When he wasn’t lonely. When he wasn’t miserable.When he had his bard by his side.

“Jaskier. He’s an ass. But he’s not entirely wrong.” Said Geralt, spreading his hands in an apologetic gesture.

“No.” Said Jaskier. “You aren’t a monster. You're just kind of a dick sometimes. I wish I could get that through people’s heads.He’s not a monster, just kind of a dick. Think I can work that into a song?” 

“Let me finish.” Said Geralt. “He’s not wrong, because I’m not the best choice. Don’t you want to eventually settle down? In luxury? With someone who will write you poetry? Not just grunt? And keep you in good wine and hot baths somewhere you aren’t running into monsters? One of these days Jask, I’m not going to be fast enough and you’re going to be eaten by a fucking kikimore.”

“Settle down? I am already a forty year old man. That's longer than most people on this continent live. The choice was made. Many years ago.It’s a done deal.Yet you still treat me like the wide eyed child. Fuck you Geralt I’m sick of you infantilizing me.” 

“I don’t…”

“Yes you do. I may be younger than you but I’m not a child. I deserve the respect of choosing my own path. Deciding for myself who I love and what kind of life I want. Earth to Geralt, the decision has been made! I’ve spent it with you.”

Geralt stammered. This conversation had now left him in deep water. “I do respect you. Of course I respect you.”

“Do you? Do you though? You put a djinn whammy on Yen when she didn’t love you and now you ignore the fact that I do love you. Stop being a fucking asshole Geralt. Let people love who they will.” 

Geralt didn’t know what to do.He had thought making this right was going to be easy.He really had thought he would waltz back into Posada and get his bard back.“I just. It’s so shitty without you.”

“Well I could have told you that.” Jaskier just sounded sad again. He may have actually sounded sad for Geralt. “And I miss you too. But I won’t be something you hide. Something you deny. I can’t do this any more. ” said Jaskier sadly. And he turned to walk into the night.

“If I’m good will you come back?” Geralt said to his back.

Jaskier turned around and walked back to Geralt. He stood mere inches from the witcher and fixed his eyes directly into Geralt’s.Without flinching, and with his eyes flickering a challenge he said,

“Geralt. Do you love me?"

Geralt was silent. He was reaching for words that would make Jaskier come back but that also didn’t scare him to say. He grasped, scrambled, for words that would make Jaskier meet him by Roach tomorrow but that didn’t upend his own life.He came up short and said nothing.

Jaskier’s eyes slowly lost their flicker. Geralt saw the challenge, and the hope along with it, extinguish. “Good night Geralt.” Jaskier whispered. turned to leave.

“Don’t leave,” said Geralt. But Jaskier was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many The Amazing Devil lyrics.


	4. Good Hunting, Witcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt wakes to a message from King Kazimir hiring him for a job. Geralt leaves for Dol Blathanna but not before enlisting the aid of a new friend to help him understand the clusterfuck of the previous night. Then, Geralt arrives in Dol Blathanna to meet the king and receive his assignment. Kill a bruxa. But what Geralt asks for in return surprises the king and his court.
> 
> “The thought is plainly ridiculous. He should settle down. Teach music lessons. Marry a pretty girl who everyone else covets. Who gives him a constant stream of praise. He needs that.”
> 
> “Shouldn’t he know what he needs?”
> 
> “You don’t understand. He’s charming,” said Geralt.
> 
> “True. Everyone loves him,” she nodded.
> 
> “Well, except people he’s angered by sleeping with their lovers,” said Geralt.
> 
> “Everyone else though,” she said.
> 
> “Except people who hate poetry,” Geralt added.
> 
> “Joyless fuckers.” She punctuated that with a blech.
> 
> “Hmmmm.” (*indeed)

**Geralt**

Geralt awoke the following morning with a nagging feeling in his chest. It took a moment for him to remember why. Dipshit. The lute.Geralt sighed and ran both hands through his tangled hair to get it out of his face. He threw back the coarse but clean blanket and pulled himself out of bed, rubbing his bare arms to wake himself. He walked across the worn wood floors to pick up his pants from the night before. Why did he wear pants with so many buttons?Oh right, Jaskier had picked these out. And the bard seemed to throw him even more appreciative glances than usual when he wore them. He had just pulled them up when there was a loud rap at the door. Geralt sprang to the door without even putting on a shirt.When he swung it open, he saw a scraggly looking boy in the doorway.

“What?” said Geralt.

“You look disappointed to see me, sir! Expecting someone else?” He was far too sunny for it being so early.

Geralt just grunted and waited for the boy to continue.

I’m looking for Geralt of Rivia. The white wolf.” he said.“Looks like that’s you,” said the boy, gesturing in the direction of Geralt’s hair. When Geralt still said nothing, the boy continued. 

“I’m Roland of Dol Blathanna and if you ever need a messenger I am the best there is. Fast. Crafty. I keep the message safe.” He held out an envelope. “This is for you. Ask for Roland anywhere, down at the tavern, at the church, in the shops, they all know Roland...”

Geralt grimaced and looked at the boy while he took the envelope and opened it.

“And do you always talk this much?”

“Sometimes sir. I can talk more if you like. I can also shut up for a generous tip from the most famous and well regarded witcher in the continent.”

Geralt shook his head disapprovingly at the boy. But he flipped him a coin and swung the door shut with no warning. The boy squeaked and hopped backwards as it closed. Geralt could still hear the boy talking but now it was blessedly muffled. Then quiet.

He froze when he saw the first line.

_“Julian Alfred Pankratz,_

_King Kazimir regrets to inform you that your services are no longer needed at the Dol Blathanna music festival. Due to time restraints we found ourselves with an overabundance of competitors and must make these unfortunate cuts. Consider this an invitation for next year, where you will have priority registration._

_Leon Novak_

_Chief Advisor King Kazimir_ ”

The door slammed open again. The boy hopped up and swiped the note while handing Geralt a new one.

“Sorry sir, that’s for the fellow in the next room. My apologies. My mistake. I’m keeping the tip though. Bye!”

The boy took off as fast as he appeared, shoving the door closed behind him. Geralt stuck his foot in the doorway and kept it open. Then he stepped out into the hall to see which way the boy had gone. To his left, the boy was standing in front of the next door over.Geralt watched him knock and wait. When there was no answer, the child looked disappointed (likely because he wouldn’t be getting a tip, Geralt wagered) and slipped the envelope under the door. As he walked past Geralt again on his way out, Geralt put his hand out to stop him. The boy looked up through his stringy hair.Geralt slipped him another coin, then gave him a little push to get him going again.The boy beamed and walked off, clutching his tips. 

“Thank you sir witcher!” he chirped.

“Hmmm” (*shut up)

Geralt remained in the hall, staring at the closed door to his left. He stared until a few patrons passed him and he had to move his large frame out of the way to make space for them. He returned to his own room to open the envelope. 

It was pretty standard. Monster bad. Witcher needed. It would be your honor to serve the great Lord Kazimir. Yadda yadda.It was short on details but that was fine.The last part however, was very clear. 

_“Make haste the very moment you receive this message. The matter must be resolved immediately. In two days Dol Blathanna is hosting a music festival which will draw almost one thousand men, women and children for celebrations, during which they will be especially vulnerable to predation.”_

It was signed by the same fellow and had the King’s seal. Geralt drew in a deep breath and exhaled. He had to go quickly. As he dressed and packed, he moved quietly, listening for movement in the next room. He heard none. But when he left, he walked over to stand in front of the door of the next room. He lifted his hand and lowered it. Then lifted it again. Then lowered it again.Then he walked away.

Geralt headed straight for the stables. It was still early so the air was fresh and the sun bright. His boots crunched across the mud and stones. When he arrived at the stables, he found Roach finishing up her breakfast, looking content. 

“Hi girl,” he said. 

Geralt inspected Roach until he was satisfied that she had been well cared for. She finished her meal and he was fitting her saddle when he was hailed.

“Good morning to you witcher!” a woman called out.

Geralt shaded his eyes and looked to see a vivacious brunette in a traveling cape and an off the shoulder blouse walking towards him. Zophia. Geralt inwardly cringed. Starting a melee in the tavern hadn’t likely endeared him to his travel companion. He felt like a man who’d gotten black out drunk the night before being forced to confront his boorish behavior at sunrise. But he had been sober last night, so he had no excuse.

“Good morning Zophia.” 

Zophia smiled and leaned against the stable door in front of him. Her hair was arranged in a bun with tendrils hanging loose about her face. Much like the messenger boy, she looked far more alert than he felt.

“I was about to fetch some breakfast before the ride to Dol Blathanna. I can bring you some.” Why did she always look at him like that? Like the cat that ate the canary?

Geralt turned back to brush Roach. Apparently Zophia was used to his non responses by now so she continued. “I’d ask you to join us but I don’t think Jakub would be too excited to see you.”

“I must leave now. I’ve been hired by King Kazimir. But thank you for the offer.” Geralt pretended she hadn’t mentioned the barkeeper. He didn’t need to rehash that.

Zophia looked around. “Where is Jaskier?”

Geralt turned back to her. “I don’t keep him in my pocket, woman.”

“Indeed. How did he react to you defending his honor?” she asked teasingly.

Geralt was taken aback. She was so intrusive. But for some reason, it was sort of endearing. Geralt lowered the brush and turned back to face her. “I broke his lute.”

Zophia’s mouth dropped open. She gasped. “Not his lute! Anything but his lute!”

“Not on purpose,” groused Geralt. “Remember when I smashed dipshit’s face on the bar?”

Zophia threw her head back and laughed. Even her laugh was bawdy. Geralt waited. She finished laughing and wiped her eyes. “Oh, you’re serious? I mean, of course. It was the highlight of last night.”

“Well, in the commotion, his lute was broken,” said Geralt. He pursed his lips together and looked down. 

“What is he going to play for the festival?”

Geralt knew that Jaskier’s invitation had been revoked. But he also felt the message to Jaskier was private. “I don’t know. I plan to replace it.”

“Well yes, I’d suggest that.” said Zophia. “It takes more than two days for a good craftsman to fix a lute. I’ll be honest though, I don’t really blame you for cracking that man's head. I wanted to do the same. And I may love Jaskier but I don’t think I love him the way you do. So I can't imagine how you felt.”

Why was everyone suddenly so comfortable with that word? 

“Hmmm.” (*bewildered)

“Ok,” said Zophia. “I’ll leave you to it. We’ll meet again soon.” Zophia patted Roach’s nose softly then turned to leave.Geralt panicked.He was at a complete loss about last night. Who else could help him with this? Would he just carry it around forever? Zophia knew Jaskier, and she seemed comfortable with this sort of thing.

“Zophia,” he said.

She turned and raised her eyebrows.

“Yes?

“That’s what Jaskier said too. Last night.” said Geralt.

“What did he say, love?” said Zophia.

She had to wait a moment as Geralt shifted his weight, looked to Roach, then back at her. She was patient. Finally he spoke.

“That word. Love. He said love. He called me love.” Geralt almost whispered. His face was flaming.

Zophia stifled a smile, walking back to where he stood with Roach. “Well, witcher. What do _you_ think it is? Between you two?”

“How was I supposed to know?” He protested weakly.

Zophia shot him a look of incredulity. “Oh no no no no. I think not. Try again, witcher,” she said.

There was another long silence. Geralt had to push himself hard to get out the next words.

“Witchers don’t fall in love for many reasons. Especially not with mortals we must inevitably watch die. We aren’t...normal. We don’t feel normal things. Our lives are brutal. I’m a terrible choice for him.”

“I think it might be too late for that.” Zophia said.

“Fuck.” said Geralt. His head dropped and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “How. did. this. happen?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Zophia said.

Geralt looked back up shook his head. “I never considered it wasn’t...safe.”

“He doesn’t want to be safe. He wants you.”

Geralt looked at her pleadingly. Like a man begging to be put out of his misery.

“Ooohh,” she said. Mercifully, she didn’t say (oh, safe for you) out loud.

“The thought is plainly ridiculous. He should settle down. Teach music lessons. Marry a pretty girl who everyone else covets. Who gives him a constant stream of praise. He needs that.”

“Shouldn’t he know what he needs?”

“You don’t understand. He’s charming,” said Geralt.

“True. Everyone loves him,” she nodded.

“Well, except people he’s angered by sleeping with their lovers,” said Geralt.

“Everyone else though,” she said.

“Except people who hate poetry,” Geralt added.

“Joyless fuckers.”She punctuated that with a _blech_.

“Hmmmm.” (*indeed)

“Witcher, you can’t change a man’s heart. You accept or reject. But you don’t decide for him.”

“What if he makes bad decisions?”

“Maybe appreciate his terrible judgment because you benefit from it.”

Geralt coughed. He straightened his swords. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“Well, you need to tell someone. But better yet, tell him.”

“I don’t know what I would say. Aggghhh fuck.I don’t know what I’m doing. I need to go.” Geralt started to lead Roach away from the stables.

Zophia smiled and fell into step next to him. “Travel safe, witcher. And tell him how you feel.”

Geralt grunted. “I feel irritated.”

Zophia laughed. She threw her arms around him. He just stood there tensed until she let go. But he couldn’t truthfully claim that he hated it. Then she left him for the tavern and breakfast with the other bards.

\---

The kingdom of Dol Blathanna was once home to elves and was called the valley of flowers. Indeed the bucolic streams and green laden trees still proved that description apt. But while the lush vegetation endured, the government in power rotated often and by bloody means. The current ruler, Radislaw Kazimir had summoned him though, so that is who he would work for this day.

It was a manageable distance to Dol Blathanna, so Geralt and Roach made it in a few hours. After presenting the king’s letter at the gate and after finding a good stable to care for Roach, Geralt found his way to the castle. He waited in a marble and stone entryway until a puffed up looking man in a high collar and striped breeches bustled out to fetch him.

“Right this way,” he said. As they walked down the hall he ran down a list of rules. “Bow when you enter. Don’t speak until spoken to. Address him as ‘your majesty’. Keep your answers brief.”

Geralt grunted. They entered the large ornate throne room. The walls were held up by rows of marble pillars. The walls were adorned with gilded art and rich colors. Geralt’s footfalls echoed as he walked. 

Geralt had been to Dol Blathanna many times but had never had occasion to meet the king. Kazimir sat casually on the throne with a false smile and the air of man used to getting his way. In other words, like every other king. To Kazimir’s left stood a stunning statuesque dark skinned woman in a sapphire satin robe that hugged every curve. Her shorn hair exposed her graceful neck and shoulders to dramatic effect. Geralt recognized the unnatural, too perfect beauty of a mage who had undergone the transformation. 

To the king’s right was a young girl about Cirilla’s age. Geralt felt a subtle rush of emotion. He realized this was a new side effect of being the father of teenaged girl.He felt more protective of the ones he met out in the wild.This girl had black hair woven into braids wrapped to frame her sincere face. She sat primly in a pale high necked gown simply cut from luxurious cloth.To her right was a member of the king’s guard in full armor.There were also assorted hangers on and advisors standing around the room looking alert, like cats around a rocking chair. 

“King Kazimir,” squeaked the escort. “Geralt of Rivia here to pay homage to your royal highness. He is prepared to serve as fits his station.”

Geralt’s lip curled slightly like he’d just smelled something rancid. The king spoke with a booming voice clearly meant to provoke awe.

“Geralt of Rivia. Enter.” he waved Geralt forward. Out of the corner of Geralt’s eye he saw a petite woman in a pinafore normally worn by governesses signing the words for Princess Chessa. The girl was deaf. Geralt made a mental note. He knew how to speak in sign, so he would remember to greet her with it if given the opportunity.

His escort hissed “bow”.

Geralt ignored him. He walked up to the throne and nodded. He felt it was a respectful nod. He normally did bow at least perfunctorily. But something in him bristled at being ordered to do so by this absurd man. The escort scurried behind him.

“I received your message Lord Kazimir.” said Geralt. “Name the monster and your terms.”

“Majesty!” the servant protested in a stage whisper. “Call him your majesty!” He looked horrified. He was sweating and bobbing.

“Oh you get right to the point don’t you witcher,” said Kazimir.

“I was told to be brief,” said Geralt, and inclined his head towards his escort.

The servant beside him blanched. “No, majesty, I—“

The king waved at the escort to dismiss him. 

“It’s just as well. I’m a busy man. As you may have heard, we have the largest music festival in the continent taking place in a day. Right here in Dol Blathanna.” He looked around as though he expected applause. He waited a moment and was rewarded with a smattering of nervous clapping from the outskirts of the hall. “So let’s get this over with."

Geralt stood waiting. His hands were clasped in front of him. Both swords were slung from his shoulders. It was good for them to see what they were buying.

“I have received word that a bruxa has taken up residence in the glades a few miles to the north. I can’t have it roaming about when masses of revelers are already streaming into our gates. I need it taken care of now.” said the king.

“So it hasn’t attacked your city?” Asked Geralt.He was now in fact gathering mode.

“No.” answered the king. “But my sources are reliable.”

“I will need its most recent sighted location so I can pick up its scent.” said Geralt.

He noticed the king suppress a shudder. “That’s right. Your kind can track like dogs.”

“Is that not why you are hiring me?” Said Geralt flatly.He really wasn’t bothered anymore by the distain of those who hired him.

“Very well. My guard will give you the location after we make our deal.” said the king. “When we are done here, you’ll go to the room at the end of the far western hallway as you exit the court.Now for the reward.”

“I don’t want coin.” said Geralt, cutting him off.

Irritation flashed over the king’s face but he tucked it away quickly.The king’s eyebrows shot up. “A witcher? Working for free? Unheard of.”

“I didn’t say I would work for free.”

“Barter then. Interesting. What would a witcher want besides coin? I didn’t know your kind valued anything other than spilling the guts of monsters and collecting coin.” He barked out a laugh that lasted until hesitant titters rose from the onlookers.

“I want two things.” Said Geralt.

“Do go on?” Said the king, gesturing as if to say _this ought to be good_.

“A lute.” Said Geralt.

“A lute?” said the king, genuine surprise in his voice. Whispers spread around the hall. “Do you plan on singing at the festival?” he laughed. First it was only his laugh that rang out again. Then scattered laughing spread through the courtiers. He looked at at his mage then over to his guard. His mage and his daughter were the only two who hadn’t so much as cracked a smile. But the king didn’t seem to notice. “Can you imagine? A witcher? Playing a delicate instrument without crushing it? Delighting children instead of frightening them?” 

Geralt looked bored. “A lute. The best one in your kingdom.”

“But why not just accept coin and buy yourself a lute?” asked the king. He set his chin on his fist solicitously.

“It needs to be readied for my bard while I am on the hunt. You rescinded his invitation this morning.But you will tell him it was a mistake and invite him again. Then you will have your best lute waiting for him when he arrives.”

“Witcher! If you are giving up coin for your bard, you must be confident he will win the festival prize money.”

“Do you accept? Or not?” Asked Geralt.

“Yes, yes that’s fine. I’ll take that wager.” said the king.

One of his advisors cleared his throat.

“Oh yes, what is your bard’s name so we can summon him?”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz. He is known as Jaskier. He’s in Posada, staying at the Golden Pony Inn” said Geralt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the little girl’s eyes light up and her back straighten. Until then, she had been sitting listless. 

“Good, good. Consider it done.” Kazimir waved at his guards, still chuckling. He shook his head and laughed again at his own joke. “A witcher playing the lute.”

“Then we’re done here,” said Geralt.

“Indeed. Meet my guards outside. They’ll give you the location. You are ready to leave right away.” It was a question but was made like a statement.

“Immediately.”

“Good hunting, witcher.”


	5. The Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The princess of Dol Blathanna meets a witcher and it challenges everything she has been taught about his kind. Then she finds out distressing news that pits her new beliefs against her father. 
> 
> “Jaskier is your bard?” she signed, hopefully.
> 
> “Yes,” signed the witcher.
> 
> Chessa knew what she wanted to say, but she looked around the hallway gathering her nerve. The witcher turned and looked as well. When he saw no one was there, he looked back at her with the corner of his mouth quirked up a bit. But he didn’t say anything. He just waited. She fidgeted with her skirts. Up close his eyes were unnerving but she forced herself to look into them. She found they weren’t really that different from other eyes. Gold was just another color. 
> 
> Chessa finally lifted her hands again and quickly signed, “He is my favorite bard. He is so beautiful.” 
> 
> The witcher tilted his head slightly. His face didn’t change. But somehow she felt he was looking at her warmly. 
> 
> “I supposed that he is,” signed the witcher. 

** Chessa **

Court had always been a fact of life for Chessa. Even before her feet could reach the floor from her ornate chair, she learned not to swing her legs or squirm. She learned to be an ornament for her father’s court. All the days in court became the same, bleeding into one another. She looked out onto the cavernous room crowded with subjects without really registering them. The tapestries, the marble, the murals, none of it spoke to her. Chessa knew nothing else. 

So she sat on the dais near her father. It was like any other day, except today she was trying to block out the dread in anticipation of the procedure he father was insisting she undergo. She was still holding out hope that Malitza could talk him out of it.Katarina stood to her right out of sight of others, signing to her. The sight of her governess was always a comfort. 

Then the witcher strode in. 

Chessa’s father had told her that witchers were mutants without sympathy or feelings. That they existed simply to kill. That they were an evil tolerated for too long. She had heard some variation of this message her entire life. Something bothered her about that but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it until she saw him. He looked human. Granted his white hair and golden eyes had an eerie effect. But he truly looked human. 

Chessa was also surprised to find that she liked him immediately. She felt a prickle of satisfaction at how he disregarded court customs. For a moment she imagined doing the same.Not obeying her father. Striding in and speaking her mind.

But then the witcher said the name “Jaskier”. At the bard’s name, she lit up and looked from Katarina, who was signing for her, back to the witcher. Chessa saw him with new eyes.This was the witcher Jaskier sang about with such devotion.Maybe if she looked at him hard enough she could see what was so special about him.

When she returned her gaze to Katarina, her governess signed. “ _Get it together._ ” The King didn’t speak sign. So Katarina could freely slip into a private conversation with Chessa. The only other person in court who understood them was the mage Malitza, and the mage was looking studiously ahead as always. Her discipline was a source of awe for Chessa. She hoped to be like that some day.

The princess lifted her chin and forced an expression of disinterest back into her face. Chessa’s father didn’t approve of a princess ‘mooning’ over performers of any kind.King Kazimir held the common upper class opinion that entertainers were crass and immoral. It was well and good to have them around for the occasional song if it made his subjects grateful and pliant.But nobility must always keep the appropriate distance and never been seen to condone their hedonistic behavior. 

By the time Chessa gathered her thoughts, her father boomed “Court is dismissed.” Katarina dutifully signed his words to her.Chessa looked at the retreating back of the witcher. Within seconds he was gone. The princess was the kind of child who obeyed. She was sensible. She did as she was told. But lately she had been feeling the urge to do things her way.She made a split second decision. She descended the dais and looked for Katarina. Her governess was busy speaking with one of her father’s advisors, the one in charge of Chessa’s education. So Chessa seized her opportunity. 

She skirted the grand hall along the walls to attract the least amount of attention. She restrained the lengths and speed of her steps and kept her expression stoic. Once she reached the hall exit and escaped sight of her father and her governess, she hitched up her skirts slightly and sped up. 

Chessa knew where the witcher was headed. So she hurried down the corridors of gilded leather towards the room where her father’s guard met. Once she rounded into the correct hall, she saw the large oak door in front of her. It looked like all the other doors in the castle apart from a sign attached that depicted crossed swords. She stood in front of it for a second. She couldn’t knock. She didn’t want her father’s guards to know she was there.And since she couldn’t hear the voices, she would have to assume the witcher was behind the door. There was nowhere else he would go for his instructions and orders.So she decided to wait outside the door and hoped that the witcher would be the first person out. She pressed her back against the wall and tried to be quiet and invisible. If the wrong person came out, she didn’t want to be spotted. 

She stood there in silence for a few moments. Chessa always had her lessons after court, and if Katarina found her room empty, she would be looking for her. Hopefully he came out soon. She could feel her own heart beating as she waited. Before long, the door flew open, and she was just feet from the witcher to his right, shrunken against the wall. This was her moment. Chessa had followed him. She had found him. Now was the time to get his attention.But when she saw him up close, even for a split second from the side, she lost all nerve.He had an air of complete confidence. He was armed with deadly swords that had killed terrifying beasts. He was so large. So when her moment came, she simply watched him walk out of the door and down the hall away from her. Part of her was relieved. This had been an ill conceived idea.

But after walking a few feet down the hall the witcher stopped. He stilled for a moment then turned slowly and looked directly at her. Her heart almost stopped. She felt incredibly stupid. She felt frivolous and girlish and stupid.This witcher was here to slaughter a beast for her father. Not to be bothered about his friend the bard. She swallowed hard. The witcher walked back to stand in front of her. She was a petite girl so he loomed over her. But she drew herself up as much as she could. She cleared her throat and hoped that she looked mature and in control.

The witcher raised his hands and signed to her.

“Hello princess.”

Chessa’s jaw dropped. So few people in her life spoke her language. Sometimes she felt like she lived in a world with three people. Her, Katarina, and Malitza. The thrill of it distracted Chessa from her fear momentarily.

“You can speak in signs as well?” she signed tentatively. She forgot all pretense of looking haughty. She also forgot why she had followed him there.

“Yes princess. A silent language is extremely valuable when tracking monsters. The element of surprise is crucial. I’ve taught my bard to sign as well. Though it still hasn’t managed to silence him completely.I’m afraid that would take an act of the gods.”

Chessa laughed. That reminded her why she had come to talk to the witcher.

“Jaskier is your bard?” she signed, hopefully.

“Yes,” signed the witcher.

Chessa knew what she wanted to say, but she looked around the hallway gathering her nerve. The witcher turned and looked as well. When he saw no one was there, he looked back at her with the corner of his mouth quirked up a bit. But he didn’t say anything. He just waited. She fidgeted with her skirts. Up close his eyes were unnerving but she forced herself to look into them. She found they weren’t really that different from other eyes. Gold was just another color. 

Chessa finally lifted her hands again and quickly signed, “He is my favorite bard. He is so beautiful.” 

The witcher tilted his head slightly. His face didn’t change. But somehow she felt he was looking at her warmly. 

“I supposed that he is,” signed the witcher. 

Chessa felt encouraged. The fear was draining from her. He hadn’t scoffed at her or laughed at her. He hadn’t called her childish. So even though she kept fidgeting, she also kept speaking.

“What is he like? Jaskier? Is he as enchanting as he seems?” she signed.

It was the witcher’s turn to look around the hallway stalling for time. He thought for so long, Chessa wasn’t sure he was even going to answer. But he eventually did.

“More so,” signed Geralt. “But never tell him I said so. I will deny it completely.”

Chessa giggled. She thrilled at the thought of having the opportunity to tell Jaskier anything. To meet him in person. Now there was no stopping her. 

“I am practicing my penmanship with my tutor. I write the lyrics to Jaskier’s songs in my practice book. My father says it’s ridiculous and unbecoming. That I should be copying our lineage or coats of arms for practice. So I just have an extra practice book I hide. Katarina just doesn’t tell him, so I get to keep it,” said Chessa. She felt emboldened admitting that she secretly disobeyed her father. But she also felt a little self conscious because she might be babbling.

“People think I can’t hear his voice. But i can. It’s just different for me. Vibrations. And I know his words. People think it’s stupid.”

“It isn’t.”

“My father thinks it’s stupid.”

“Your father is a bit of a dick though isn’t he,” signed Geralt. His expression hadn’t changed but his eyes danced with mirth.

Chessa laughed again. She felt a wee bit guilty that she wasn’t offended by the witcher’s insult. She found that she mostly agreed with him. At least in this matter.

“Sometimes yes,” said Chessa. She was determined to get back on track. There was a reason she had followed this terrifying man that she was somehow no longer terrified of. 

“Can you introduce me to Jaskier when he gets here? My father will present him but that’s not the same. Maybe he would inscribe his name in my practice book.” Chessa lowered her hands and stood there with her heart in her throat. 

“Certainly, princess,” signed the witcher. “I’m sure he’d be glad to.”

She exhaled and a grin spread across her face.

“Thank you witcher,” she signed.

“I’m Geralt,” he said, and slightly bowed his head towards her.

“I’m Chessa. And you are a good friend to get him back into the festival. I just know he’s going to win.”

The witcher smiled.

“It was an honor to meet you princess. I will see you when I return tomorrow.”

“We can enjoy the festival together. May our favorite bard win,” she signed.

The witcher nodded again and walked away down the wide echoing hall. Chessa didn’t dare accompany him on his way out. She might attract the attention of staff who would surely tell her father. But she followed the witcher, ( _Geralt, his name is Geralt_ ) from a distance to a door that opened to the outside. Geralt left through the door, but it remained open, being held by a servant. So she stood to the side and peered out. She saw a stable hand give the witcher the reigns of his sleek brown horse. Then Geralt turned to look straight at her and nodded before he mounted his horse. She drew back a little. Of course he had known she was there. She recovered and raised her hand and to give him a little wave. He rode away, swords glinting in the sun.

The door swung closed and Chessa was left alone in the hall. Chessa could not contain her excitement. She had to tell someone that she was going to meet her favorite bard.So she made her way back through the sprawling building until she reached the far servants wing. The walls here were slightly more bare. No gilded leather lined the halls. The rugs running down the floors were slightly more worn.Chessa stopped in front of one of the many large oak doors.She knocked quietly.There was no answer, so she knocked again more loudly.

The door creaked open. Chessa had come to the private quarters of Katarina. But she wasn’t surprised when Malitza opened the door. Malitza had already changed from her silky jewel colored gown from court. She was wearing soft breeches and a tunic. 

“Hello princess,” she signed. Even up close, Malitza’s rich complexion was unnaturally flawless. Chessa would be utterly intimidated by her if it weren’t for Katarina. 

Katarina came to join Malitza, taking one of the mage’s hands, threading their fingers together. Katarina’s braids were loosed. Her chestnut hair fell around her shoulders. Her belt and corset were tossed on a chair. She seemed surprised to see Chessa. She let go of Maritza’s hand and signed, “Hello my princess. You are early. Are you well?”

“Yes, yes, I am fantastic, ” Chessa signed. Her face was glowing. “I have great news. I just have to tell someone.”

“Well what is it my dear,” signed Katarina. Malitza beckoned Chessa in and shut the door behind her. The room bore signs that the two women had been eating lunch. There was bread and fruit on earthenware plates sitting on the simple table. Malitza’s musty old magic books were stacked around the room on the bench and the bed. 

Chessa actually preferred Katarina’s quarters to her own, which never felt lived in. No matter how many times she messed up the bed or left her shoes around, a servant had the bed made and the shoes stacked neatly before she could enjoy it. Also, Chessa had no say in the decoration of her room, which was adorned with portraits of ancestors long gone with crowns on their heads and haughty glints in their eyes.Chessa always felt that they were judging her. But she  always felt comfortable in Katarina’s quarters.

So Chessa jumped up and down a few times excitedly while she signed, “I am going to meet the bard Jaskier.” 

Katarina offered her an indulgent smile. “I heard that. He’s coming to the city. How lovely. I know how you adore him.”

Chessa beamed.

“You know I used to know him. Rather I met him once or twice,” said Katarina, blushing.

“You never told me that” signed Chessa. 

“You never told me that” signed Malitza

Katarina smiled sheepishly. She spoke aloud. “He was just one sweet night darling. You are my forever love.”

Chessa nodded. She didn’t have time for this. This was about her. She kept signing “I’m not just going to see him though. I’m going to be properly introduced. I spoke to the witcher and..”

“You WHAT?” both Katarina and Malitza signed and spoke, their eyes wide in shock.

Chessa sighed. She was almost a woman. She was tired of everyone being overprotective. “I SPOKE TO THE WITCHER.” signed Chessa. Now her signs were dramatic. Her hands slapped together. She glared at the two women. “I don’t care what anyone says. He was kind to me and he speaks in signs too.”

Katarina and Malitza looked at one another. Their concerned expressions only served to irritate Chessa further. Chessa crossed her arms.

“Chessa,” signed Katarina. “Witchers are not appropriate company for a child.” Her governess had her firm but kind face on.

Chessa uncrossed her arms to sign in short emphatic bursts. “I am not a child. I’m almost a woman. And he is friends with the bard Jaskier. Jaskier would never be friends with a monster.”

“He is not a monster,” signed Malitza. “I am in agreement with you in that. I do not blindly agree with your father on all matters. But the witcher..”

“Geralt,” signed Chessa. 

Malitza and Katarina looked at each other again meaningfully. Then Malitza continued.

“Geralt,” agreed Malitza “is rough and only knows violence. His job is valuable and necessary but it is still not appropriate for you to speak to him unaccompanied. He is a killer. You are a child.”

“My father is a killer,” signed Chessa. She was on a roll now and intoxicated by her own defiance. “I heard about the massacre of elves on our border.”

Malitza blinked in surprise. She looked at Chessa as though she were seeing her for the first time. Katarina just raised her hands in defeat. 

“Yes, but he is your father,” signed Katarina. She stressed the ‘father’ part by signing more furiously. 

Chessa steadfastly maintained her defiance. “Also, Geralt gave up his coin for Jaskier. So he is a loyal friend. And he agreed to introduce me to Jaskier personally.”

Katarina looked like she was relenting. She was the soft touch and Chessa knew it.

“Well, as long as you are alright. I am happy for you.”She pulled Chessa into a hug. She let go and signed.

“Just please don’t talk to the witcher again without me. It isn’t proper.” 

Chessa beamed but wasn’t about to promise anything she had no intention of complying with. Chessa looked back at Malitza in time to see her groan and rub her temples. 

“What,” signed Katarina.

“I need you two to sit down,” signed Malitza. 

Katarina looked worried but she led Chessa to a carved gilded bench and sat. Malitza paced in front of them for a moment. 

“Sweetheart” said Katarina out loud. “You are worrying me. What is the trouble?”

Chessa could read Katarina’s lips. She had been reading them since she was an infant after all. She watched the two women, confused. Malitza turned to face them.She raised her hands to speak but paused.When she continued, she signed 

“I need to tell you something.”

“Go on,” signed Katarina. “Gods you’re scaring me. Spit it out.”

“I shouldn’t be telling either of you this. I know I shouldn’t. I don’t know why I am.”

Katarina and Chessa looked at her expectantly.

Malitza directed her words to Chessa. “Princess, you are not going to meet Jaskier.”

Chessa was confused.   


“Yes I am,” she signed.

“No princess. You are not.”

“What why not?” Chessa signed. None of this was making sense.And she was starting to feel a sense of unease.

“Fuck I’m going to regret this,” signed Malitza.

“What darling?” signed Katarina.

“Your father has no intention of bringing Jaskier back to the city. He has no intention of including him in the festival.”Malitza finished signing and looked at Chessa slightly pained.

“Yes he is. He told the witcher,” signed Chessa. This all seemed so obvious. She had been in court. She had heard it.What was so difficult about this?

“Kings say things that are convenient. Those thing are not always true. Your father is no different,” explained Malitza. “It’s probably time you understood that.”

“But why not?” signed Chessa. “Why wouldn’t he bring him?”

“Princess, I really can’t tell you that. But I don’t want you to be disappointed. We can invite the bard to Dol Blathanna for a performance some other time. I can personally make that happen.”

Katarina’s face had frozen. She stood up. “The king doesn’t expect the witcher to make it back does he? Why not?” she signed.

Chessa hadn’t even considered that. But if the witcher wasn’t coming back, then he would never notice the bard had not been invited.She stood up too. “Yes why?” signed the princess.

Malitza’s shoulder slumped. She held out her hands in an attempt at a conciliatory gesture. Then she signed, “It’s really better that you don’t know.”

Katarina looked at her intensely and slowly raised her hands to sign, “There is no monster is there?”

Malitza looked pained. “Yes,” she signed. “But the bruxa isn’t the one being hunted.”


	6. It's Not Pain It's Applause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is heartbroken over Geralt, and if that weren't enough, he has been disinvited from the music festival. His friends manage to convince him to shake it off and try to sneak into Dol Blathanna in disguise. However, this is not the first time he has entered Dol Blathanna (Or its guards) while in full makeup and heels. 
> 
> "Jaskier gave his friend the most fearsome glare in his arsenal. She smiled smugly and continued. “Well, I said that you loved him and that he loved you. And that he should admit it. In so many words,” said Zophia, shrugging. 
> 
> “And? What did he say? Exactly. Not an approximation,” said Jaskier.
> 
> ‘Well?” Zophia said. “It was kind of just a...” she paused, drew herself up and summoned a scowl...”hmmmmmm.” 
> 
> Jaskier drooped.
> 
> “But he meant he loved you!” insisted Zophia. “I know that’s what that meant!”
> 
> Jaskier looked at her doubtfully. “How did he say it though?” he asked. “Like this?” Jaskier took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before he said “hmmmmm. Or,” he said, “ was it like this?” he paused again and then released another “hmmmmm.”
> 
> Zophia tilted her head. “See, those sounded exactly the same to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I just really want to see Jaskier in make up and heels. And I love a feral bard with zero sense of self preservation.

_But that breathing you hear don't mistake it for sighs_

_Don’t you realise - They’re just battle cries dear_

** Jaskier **

Jaskier lay sprawled out on top of the rough wool blanket of the inn bed. Empty flasks and mugs cluttered the side table. A crumpled parchment with a broken seal laid on the floor beside the bed. There was a window in the room streaming in light.Jaskier, however, was blotting out the light. He had a pillow over his head and an arm thrown over the pillow.

The room smelled of stale beer. Jaskier swallowed, trying to get the filmy taste out of his mouth. Ever since that Shelob spurted its goo into his mouth, he couldn’t get rid of the faint aftertaste. He had downed so much ale, and it hadn’t helped. He hadn’t meant to open his mouth when he was stabbing it, but when one is stabbing a swollen spider the size of two men, one loses track of what one’s mouth is doing.

There was a knock. Jaskier groaned. He had gotten up once already today and it hadn’t worked out well. He had gotten up to retrieve the note stuffed under his door and after reading it, fell directly back into bed. Waking up today had been a mistake. 

There was a louder, more insistent knock.

“KINDLY BUGGER OFF,” he called out. It was most likely the proprietor. They were so busy for the festival they probably wanted to put someone else in the room. “I’LL BE OUT PRESENTLY.”

Jaskier heard the doorknob turn. Bollocks. He had unlocked the door when he got up the first time. He heard the door swing open.

“Jaskier! What are you still doing in bed?” said Zophia. 

Jaskier had seen Zophia last night with Boris and Filip but hadn’t said hello. Geralt had been with him, and he just didn’t have the energy. Under normal circumstances he would have been thrilled to see her. She was a fellow bard and one of his favorite people, even if he didn’t get to see her as much as he’d like. They’d written songs together, drank enthusiastically together, and even had a tryst one night before they settled into the friendship they had now. However, at this moment, he just wanted her to go away. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. He knew his eyes were red and puffy. And he was afraid if he began to talk, his voice would fail him. Maybe if he ignored her, she would leave.

He heard her walk over to the window and draw the curtains wider. Godsdamnit.He grabbed another pillow and placed it on top of the one he was already holding over his head. He heard her walk over to the bed and felt the side dip when she sat down. 

“Jaskier. Get up.The festival is tomorrow. Don’t you want to get to Dol Blathanna before the rush?” She smacked his legs. Jaskier spoke through the pillows.

“I’m not going.” It was muffled but she apparently understood him.

“What do you mean you aren’t going? You have one of the best slots tomorrow.”

Jaskier lifted one arm and gestured vaguely in the direction of the floor. He felt the bed dip again as she bent down and he heard her pick up the letter and smooth it out. After a moment of silence, she spoke.

“What in the bloody hell is this?” 

Crisp air hit Jaskier’s face as Zophia yanked the pillows away. He let his arm fall back over his eyes.

“I don’t know. It is what it says it is,” he said. He hoped he sounded sufficiently grumpy to put her off of talking to him altogether.

“Seriously what in the fuck?” she demanded. “Why would Kazimir revoke your invitation? I’ve never even heard of such a thing?”

“It says they invited too many people,” said Jaskier, in his best _go away_ voice.

“That makes no sense,” said Zophia, apparently oblivious to his best _go away_ voice. Or perhaps she was immune.

He felt a pillow thunk onto his bare chest. He was only wearing his thin linen undershorts. Zophia had seen more, so he didn’t feel the need to cover himself.

“Move your arm. Talk to me.” said Zophia. He ignored her.She thunked him again. He finally moved his arm and lifted his head.

“What.”

When Zophia got a good look at him, she seemed to remember the night before. “What happened to your face?” she asked. “You wouldn’t tell the witcher yesterday but you had better tell me or I’ll curse you with weak wine and upright women for the rest of your days.”

“Oh gods. Fine. It was a shelob. One of those gross spider things. It was over at Frances and Lena’s house. I helped them kill it.” Jaskier dropped his head back down. “Actually, I killed it myself.” There was a note of satisfaction in his voice.

“Damn, Jask those things are terrifying. How?” she asked.

“With a sword. Stabbed it.Not particularly elegant but most certainly effective.”

“And you didn’t want to tell the witcher that?” asked Zophia. “He almost lost his mind thinking someone had hurt you. Not that I minded him losing his temper, since I got to see him beat that horrible man” said Zophia. “What was that creep saying to you anyway?”

Jaskier chuckled darkly. “You’re going to love this. Are you ready?”

Zophia nodded “Go on.”

“He told me that I am a dandelion he very much wanted to blow.”

“OOOHHH NOOO!” Zophia erupted in laughter and almost doubled over from it. Jaskier smiled despite himself. He grabbed the pillow back from her and propped his head up. He folded his hands behind his head.

“You know, when people started calling me Dandelion, that particular connection never even occurred to me. Me! And I normally have the most creative pick-up lines.”

“Uh no.” said Zophia. “You have rubbish pick-up lines. Horrible. Cringe worthy.”

“What?” said Jaskier, clutching his bare chest in mock offense. “But they always work!”

Zophia shook her head. “Jask dear, your lines don’t work. Your lovely face does. You could say their mother is a goat and they’d fuck you. But you didn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you tell the witcher?”

Jaskier grunted dismissively. “Because fuck Geralt. Fuck him and his unnaturally symmetrical face and absurdly round ass. Geometrists could calibrate their instruments to his ass. It’s not natural. People who think his eyes aren’t natural haven’t gotten a good look at his ass.”

Zophia crossed her arms. “How many years as his bard and his best friend and now it’s just fuck him?”

“Zoph it’s been years of him behaving as though I am an irritant. Commenting on my uselessness.I always dismissed it as emotional constipation covering for a deep and abiding love. But then he told me extremely directly that I am the cause of his most horrible pain, and his deepest desire is to be rid of me. Which means he was probably actually deadly serious about my being an irritant and useless. So, I’m done.”

“You know he loves you.” said Zophia gently.

“I know he does,” said Jaskier quietly. “But he wishes he didn’t. And that’s the same as not loving me at all.”

Zophia opened her mouth to speak but Jaskier cut in.

“And why?” He thew his arms out dramatically. He looked like he’d been crucified on the bed by pillows. “Why does he wish he didn’t love me? Is it that I’m embarrassing? Dramatic? Because I’m a huge slutty slut? Because I’m just a vapid bard that he doesn’t respect?” Jaskier’s voice caught and he stopped.He looked out the window as if the tree just outside was suddenly the most fascinating tree he had ever seen.

Zophia patted his leg. "I don't think it's you. I think it's him."

Jaskier wiped his face quickly and turned back to look at her. “I told him everything. That I loved him. And even though I knew it was in vain. Even though. As the words came out, I couldn’t help but hope. Could help it.And then he did what he always does.Nothing. I’m done Zoph, I’m done. Jaskier faltered again and stopped. “How could he look at me telling him that I loved him and just give me nothing back. Just stare at me.” He wiped his face furiously again.

Zophia squeezed his leg. “I spoke to him this morning,” said Zophia. “He asked about you. He all but said he loved you.”

Jaskier shot up to a full sitting position. “What did he say? Exactly what did he say?” he demanded, while making frantic circles in the air with his hands.

“I thought Geralt could go fuck himself,” she teased. 

Jaskier gave his friend the most fearsome glare in his arsenal. She smiled smugly and continued. “Well, I said that you loved him and that he loved you. And that he should admit it. In so many words,” said Zophia, shrugging.

“And? What did he say? Exactly. Not an approximation,” said Jaskier.

‘Well?” Zophia said. “It was kind of just a...” she paused, drew herself up and summoned a scowl...”hmmmmmm.” 

Jaskier drooped.

“But he _meant_ he loved you!” insisted Zophia. “I _know_ that’s what that meant!”

Jaskier looked at her doubtfully. “How did he say it though?” he asked. “Like this?” Jaskier took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before he said “hmmmmm. Or,” he said, “ was it like this?” he paused again and then released another “hmmmmm.”

Zophia tilted her head. “See, those sounded exactly the same to me.”

Jaskier opened his eyes wide in disbelief. “Those were completely different. You see he does this cute little thing with his eyebrows and when he does that it means...”

“Ok, ok.” Zophia cut in. “Boris and Filip will be with the cart soon. You will come with us to Dol Blathanna. Geralt is already there because he was hired by Kazimir.”

“What? To do what?” asked Jaskier.

“He didn’t say. He isn’t chatty. You may have noticed.” said Zophia. “But I think it is odd that Kazimir would hire him and fire you on the same day. Aren’t you curious?” When Jaskier didn’t answer she pressed on. “Also, you’ve dreamt of this moment.You’re ready.People are going to go crazy for you and your new songs. Shouting for you. The center of all attention. Beloved. Are you going to let Kazimir take that away from you?”

Jaskier looked dreamily for a moment, but then shrugged. “I don’t see that I have a choice. If they don’t want me there, they won’t even let me into the city. Dol Blathanna keeps a long list of undesirables at the gates and I’ll be stuck outside and what, I’ll have to walk back to Posada?”

“Just leave it to me,” said Zophia. “I have the perfect disguise.”

“Zoph! I appreciate what you are doing but,” Jaskier held up one finger “I broke my lute.”

“You can use mine.”

Jaskier held up a second finger. “I ruined my new costume.”

“You’ll wear an old one. The green one. It brings out your eyes.”

“Goddamnit Zoph.” Jaskier put up a third finger. “I don’t want to see Geralt again. It’s excruciating to see him and not be his...anything... anymore. ” Jaskier’s face crumpled and he rubbed his cheek again. Zophia pulled a handkerchief out of her ample cleavage and offered it to him.He accepted.

She persisted. “What if this letter had something to do with Geralt? What if Kazimir disinvited you to punish him? Are you going to let the most execrable Lord on the continent do that to him? The man who thinks if he pulls two locks of hair over an entire bald head no one will notice? The man who thinks his own farts are the height of poetry? Who thinks Valdo Marx’s cliche lyrics are the pinnacle of songwriting?”

Jaskier stifled a smile and lifted his hands in defeat.

“What is this disguise? You may as well tell me.”

“Well.” she answered conspiratorially. “First you will have to shave.

\---

Not quite an hour later, Jaskier and Zophia left the inn and walked towards the center of town to meet Boris and Filip at the cart. Jaskier caught a glimmer of his reflection in a passing window and absently swiped his fingers across his soft cheeks.Zophia had done good work. She had painted the reddest ruby on his lips and lined his eyelids so darkly that the grey (and blue and green) of his eyes stood out vividly. The rouge highlighted his angular cheekbones to perfection. And she had curled and tousled his hair until it framed his face like a dream. She gave him a floaty lace shawl to cover his broad shoulders and biceps. He clutched it around himself and admired the effect.

“Come on beautiful,” said Zophia. Jaskier had fallen behind. He gathered up his silky skirts and sped up, his shoes clicking on the cobblestone. He reached down to straighten his garters and fell behind again. But he soon caught up. When Filip and Boris caught sight of Jaskier they whistled their best wolf whistles. 

“Looking good Jask,” said Filip appreciatively. Jaskier winked at him.

“Yes, yes, he’s very pretty,” said Zophia. “Now let’s get moving or we’ll be stuck at the city gates all day. Come on boys, help us up. These shoes are made for showing off, not climbing into carts.”

They all piled into the cart and were on their way. Jaskier was sitting next to Zophia on the back bench of the cart. Boris was in the front managing the donkeys, and Filip was sitting next to him.As soon as the donkeys started moving, Jaskier felt his stomach lurch. His head still hurt, and though he now had a whiff of hope of performing, he was still worn out.Emotionally worn out. Physically beat up and exhausted.

“You aren’t going to lose your breakfast are you?” asked Zophia. 

“Maybe. No. I don’t think so.” said Jaskier. He slowly leaned over and laid on her lap. 

“You can sleep like that?” she asked as she absentmindedly fluffed his hair.

“I can sleep through a hurricane trust me.” he reassured her.

“Suit yourself,” she said.

Jaskier napped in the bouncing cart all the way to Dol Blathanna with Zophia periodically squeezing his shoulders. He dreamed of a muscular man in black who's best friend was a horse. He was just getting to the good part when he was shaken awake. They were at a standstill.

“Wake up Jask. Look alive and look fetching.” Jaskier sat up groaning and rubbed his eyes.

“Stop rubbing your eyes.” Zophia reached over, straightened his blouse and hiked up his makeshift breasts. 

“Look at me,” said Zophia. Jaskier looked over dutifully. “Look up,” she said. She cleaned up the streaks of kohl on his cheeks and lipstick on his chin. When she was done, she patted his cheek. “All done. I have restored my masterpiece.”

Jaskier detached himself from her solicitous fingers and stood up in the cart to look at the line of people. “This is the longest line I’ve ever seen to get into the city. I could’ve slept another hour,” said Jaskier.

“They have at least double the guards and they’re walking up the line checking tickets. It’s going pretty fast. See?” said Zophia, pointing to the city’s gate. 

Jaskier shaded his eyes to survey the line of rag tag festival goers. There were carts, wagons, people on horseback, and people on foot. About a quarter of them looked to be fellow musicians, and the rest were families. Despite the wait at the gate, people were clearly in a festive mood ahead of the festival.Most people were drinking and laughing. There were sounds of instruments sprinkled throughout the line, which was better described as a caravan. Jaskier picked up at least four different songs being sung at different places in line. The weather was good, which must have contributed to the high spirits. The ground was dry and the sun was tempered by the spring breeze. The donkeys shook their heads and leaned down to look for grass. Jaskier tried to get a better look at the gate. He spotted the four guards walking up and down the caravan. He sat down with a plunk.

“Oh shit,” said Jaskier. 

“What” said Zophia. Filip and Boris also turned to see what he was on about. 

“If that guard comes to check our tickets that is going to be a problem.”

All of his friends stood up halfway and craned towards the gate to see.

“Don’t be so obvious,” said Jaskier.

“Which one?” asked Filip.

“And why?” asked Boris. 

“Don’t be so obvious,” chided Jaskier and waved for them to sit. “But the large one. Talking to two wagons down. The one with a scar on his face. He looks really mean? Long hair? Big sword? ”

“Bloody hell Jask, you really do have a type don’t you,” said Zophia.

“I do not have a type,” sniffed Jaskier. “I do not limit myself to some arbitrary standard.”

“You get arrested last time you were here?” asked Boris.

“No. I mean yes I did. But that’s not why. He knows me a little too well, if you know what I mean. He’s going to spot me for sure. And if memory serves, we did not part on good terms.”

“Well,” said Filip. “Perhaps lay off the large angry ones for awhile.”

“Never.” Said Jaskier, and shook his head. “The very thought.” He tsked.

“Why don’t you and Zoph just get married?” Asked Boris. “I know you two have tried out the merchandise already.”

“So crass,” said Jaskier in mock offense as he clutched his literal pearls.

“No way.” Said Zophia. “Men this handsome are always more trouble than they’re worth.”

Jaskier smiled proudly.

“Or a musician, Melitele forbid. Give me a blacksmith any day of the week.Big and dumb. And good with their hands. I just love watching them pound the metal all sweaty.”

“My father’s a blacksmith,” said Boris, sounding slightly discomfited.

“Oh, have me round for dinner,” said Zophia, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Why did you not join the family trade?” Asked Filip.

“Thought that bards got more women,” said Boris, now sounding confused.

Filip, Jaskier, and Zophia had a good laugh at that.

“Well,” said Boris “At least consider sticking to women for awhile, Jask. At least they can’t kick your ass.”

“I’ll have you know, there are many women who could kick my ass,” said Jaskier. He almost sounded offended. All three of his friends looked at him in disbelief.

Jaskier looked at his blood red nails that matched his lipstick. “And yours too. The mages for one. They could turn all of us into lobsters, and this cart into a walking stick. I once saw Yennefer of Vengerburg—”

“FOCUS.” Said Filip.

“NOT THE POINT JASK.” Said Zophia. Then she darted a look at Boris.

“We women may be less commonly adept at bludgeoning faces but we are far more dangerous. We’ll ruin your life. Turn your families against you. Poison your food. Honestly Boris, have you learned nothing from our friendship?”

Boris blew out a whistle. “Remind me never to mess with you.”

“Again, I would have thought you already knew that. You disappoint me.” Zophia turned to Jaskier. “It will be fine. He won’t recognize you like that will he? All the heavy makeup? I did lay it on pretty thick.”

“He will absolutely recognize me like this.”

Zophia looked at him quizzically.

“What can I say, he likes what he likes. And I always aim to please.”

Zophia groaned. “Ok. Tell me his name.”

“Ummmmmmmmm,” said Jaskier as he tapped his chin.

“Unbloody believable.” Said Zophia.

“Well maybe he won’t recognize me. I wasn’t wearing a smoky eye that night at least. Just a subtle cat eye.”

“Gods help us. Here.” Zophia grabbed a large floppy hat and thunked it down on Jaskier’s head.

“Mikolaj!” said Jaskier triumphantly, punching the air. "That was his name! Then he scrunched his face. “Wait. Or was it Adam?”

“THOSE TWO NAMES SOUND NOTHING ALIKE,” said Zophia.

They heard one of the other guards yell at Jaskier’s former paramour.

“Oskar!”

Zophia shook her head. Jaskier just shrugged. “I was close.”

Oskar waved at the man yelling at him.

“What?”

“I have to check this wagon. You take that lot.” The man said and he pointed at their wagon.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Jaskier groaned and shrunk down, pulling the brim of the hat down over his face. Oskar lumbered over, sword thumping on his hip. He reached the wagon and slapped the side absentmindedly.

“Tickets.” Oskar said and looked at them under heavy disapproving eyebrows. Boris dutifully handed over the stack of tickets. Oskar read them over, flipping through quickly. Jaskier felt sweat trickling down his back.

“Which one of you is Zophia?” Oskar asked, looking up and surveying the wagon. Zophia jumped up trying to obscure Jaskier, holding out her hand for a shake. Oskar looked at her appreciatively but rejected the hand. He raised the tickets.

“There is only one lady’s name on these tickets, but I see two ladies here. Madam please take off your hat.” He jabbed his finger at Jaskier. There was nothing left for Jaskier to do but remove the hat, and smile the most innocent smile he could manage. Oskar’s face contorted impressively quickly into a display of anger.

“YOU!” he yelled. “YOU!” He shook the stack of tickets at Jaskier, who froze like a deer with the smile still plastered on his face.

“Didn’t satisfy him I take it?” hissed Zophia and nudged Jaskier with her elbow.

“Oh yes I did.” Said Jaskier. He put his hands on his hips, “How dare you imply..”

Oskar circled the wagon swiftly until he reached the side where Jaskier was sitting.

“You scoundrel you fucked my wife,” he shook his fist at Jaskier threateningly. Jaskier looked around nervously.

“Well. Uh well. You see. After you left for work that day, I had some energy left, you were a bit of a cold fish if we are being honest, and you wife is a very lovely woman..”

“She left me! The next day! For a BARD.” Oskar screamed. His hands gripped the side of the wagon so tightly his knuckles were white. 

“Well not for me!” said Jaskier. “I’ve never seen her since!”

“You gave her the idea!” said Oskar. Spittle was flying now and he looked like he was going to explode.

Jaskier shrugged and held his shoulders up. His shawl fell off to the cart. “Well, she did mention you weren’t satisfying her...” the guard’s eyes went wild but Jaskier kept babbling “...and that is not my doing it is yours and well if she left you for a bard, then she must have been happy with my performance which is really a good thing if you think about it because my amorous reputation is entirely intact...”

Zophia kicked him hard.

“Ow.” said Jaskier and rubbed his shin.

“How dare you, you little fucker..” Oskar roared and lunged for him. Jaskier leapt up and backed quickly against Zophia as she scooted all the way back to the other side of the wagon. There was nowhere else to run. There were guards circling the other side of the wagon.Jaskier was mentally preparing himself for the beating he was about to get.Jaskier backed up farther still until he was smack against Zophia. He almost tumbled backwards when she jumped up onto the bench. 

“Oh LOOK!” she shouted at the top of her lungs at the long line of wagons behind them. She waved her arms wildly at Jaskier. “LOOK EVERYONE! IT IS JASKIER! THE MAN THEY CALL DANDELION!THE MOST TALENTED AND SEXY BARD IN THE CONTINENT! WHAT IS THE SONG?”

She looked down at Boris and Filip. “PLAY THE FUCKING SONG” she hissed. Boris jumped up to attention and grabbed a guitar and began strumming.

Oskar was now climbing the wagon.

“WHEN A HUMBLE BARD..” sang Boris.. “GRACED A RIDE ALONG.” Filip jumped up and began playing his instrument as well.

‘WITH GERALT OF RIVIAAAAAA...”

Oskar was now inside the small rickety wagon which shook precariously as he lunged for Jaskier. Jaskier ducked nimbly around Oskar’s arms and jumped to the ground. He peeled off his skirt and kicked off his shoes. Thankfully he had breeches underneath.He still had a high necked blouse on that tied at his chin though. He shaved his face at the inn, but Zophia had waved at his hirsute chest saying..”we don’t have time to address...all of that.”So they had just covered it.He looked back up at the cart, and Zophia had her lute lifted in the air. Jaskier raised his hands and she tossed it to him.

“ALONG CAME THIS SOOOONG” belted Jaskier, as he strummed the lute and joined in with Boris and Filip seamlessly. He noticed several other voices in the crowd had also joined them.

There were squeals and several kids jumped out of wagons as their parents failed to stop them in time. Oskar turned around and jumped back off of the wagon but as he hit the ground, ten children had already made a circle around Jaskier and were giggling and dancing. By then other guards had noticed the commotion and were rushing to help their comrade. They stopped short at the gathering of children. By then everyone in the caravan had joined in the song. Jaskier was now playing to this audience expertly and to great effect. One of the guards ran up to the cart and barked up at Oskar.

“What is the meaning of this?” He could barely be heard over the din. Oskar pointed at Jaskier and shouted,

“THIS IS JASKIER. HE IS ON THE LIST OF PEOPLE WE ARE NOT ALLOWED TO LET IN THE CITY GATES…”

“HE CAN’T BE BLEAT” sang the crowd. At that exact moment, and during the exact pause just before the chorus, Oskar shouted,

“WE NEED TO ARREST HIM NOW!” 

There were angry cries from the crowd. Jaskier was now walking around the wagon and bowing and winking at anyone he could make eye contact with. A cabbage came flying from somewhere in the caravan and hit Oskar in the chest.

“WHAT IN BLOODY HELL” the guard roared just as a piece of bread followed the cabbage and smacked him in the face. The crowd was good at multitasking. They raised their voices enthusiastically (and many drunkenly) at the chorus “TOSS A COIN TO YOUR WITCHER” while pelting Oskar with assorted breads and fruits. The guard jumped down from the wagon to avoid the projectiles while Zophia and the bards in the wagon snatched up the food and stuffed them in bags. Traveling musicians were a resourceful lot and never wasted food.Jaskier strode up to Oscar and circled him, singing, 

“OH VALLEY OF PLENTY WOAH OH OH”.

The man who was clearly in charge, the captain of the guard, seized Oskar’s arm and motioned for him to stand back. Several other guards had gathered there and the captain motioned for them to stand together behind him. Then the captain turned back towards Jaskier and his face slowly turned into a grand smile. He began singing too and motioned to his men to join in.So there they all stood, in the sun in a row outside the city gates with probably one hundred people joyfully singing the song.Everyone except Oskar, who was sulking. When the music finally faded, someone shouted at Jaskier. “You’re going to play that at the festival, aren’t you?”

Jaskier shouted back generously “Of course of course, thank you thank you very much,” He bowed low and swept his hand across his waist. The captain started towards Jaskier but there were boos and more fruit being pelted. Jaskier looked at the captain and sniffed sentimentally.

“I remember the days when they used to throw produce at _me_ ,” he said.

The captain raised his hands to calm the crowd. “Jaskier will be performing of course. In fact, King Kazimir himself is eager to see him for a private performance.We will be escorting Jaskier directly to the throne room at once.”

There were disappointed noises from the crowd. The captain continued. “Jaskier will be glad to perform again for you all tomorrow.” There were cheers. The captain, who was a strawberry blonde man of medium height with an extra medallion on his collar smiled at him. Jaskier didn’t feel convinced. The captain turned to the wagon with Jaskier’s friends.

“We will return your friend to you after his performance for the king.” He was speaking loudly so the crowd could hear him. Then he turned to Jaskier and spoke quietly so Jaskier was the only person who could hear him. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Since you were legitimately invited, there would be no reason for you to not accompany us, yes?” Jaskier stepped over to the wagon and handed Zophia’s lute up to her and laughed nervously.

“Yes of course I do have a valid invitation of course and would be delighted and honored to perform for his majesty.”

Applause broke out from the onlookers. Jaskier glanced again at Zophia who was looking at him fearfully, as though he were about to eat a pie with shit filling.

“After you, good sir.” The captain gestured broadly for Jaskier to walk ahead of him. 

Jaskier began walking towards the city gates along the sides of the wagons, flanked by four guards now. When they passed through the city gates, Jaskier tried to bolt, but instantly there were strong hands clasped on his shoulder, guiding him through the streets to the castle. Jaskier tried to get a good look around, since he suspected he would only be seeing the inside of the dungeon during the festival.Soon they arrived at the castle. The moment they entered the front gate and were out of sight of his fans, Oskar whirled Jaskier around and punched him in the face. Jasker staggered sideways and held his jaw with his hands. The other guard grabbed his hands and put them behind his back and began tying them.

Jaskier spit out blood and said, “Actually this brings back good memories of my time with your wife…I didn’t tie them quite as tightly because they had to reach around your bedposts…”Oskar punched him in the stomach and he sagged and blew out air. “ooohhhhh ok yes yes, perhaps that was a little too far my apologies.”

Oskar stepped in closely “You look beat up already. I must be one of a million people who would love to beat you senseless.” Oskar raised his fist again but the other guard moved forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

“You may not want to do that,” the other more slight guard said.

“Why not.” growled Oskar.

The other man looked uncomfortable but he managed to say, “The white wolf will have our balls. The bard already looks beat up and if the witcher finds out a guard did it...” 

Oskar shook his arm free. 

The other guard continued.“The witcher gave up his coin to get him the best spot in the festival. Did  you ever see a witcher give up coin?”

Jaskier’s heart beat faster at that. The bruises suddenly hurt a little less. Oskar turned back to Jaskier and got so close, his spittle hit his cheeks as he hissed,

“So that is who you rejected me for? A fucking mutant?”

“You’re ruining my makeup,” Jaskier said. Then Jaskier head butted him. Oskar’s head snapped back.

“Woooooooo, this is really getting exciting now, isn’t it fellas!” Said Jaskier, followed quickly by a grunt as Oskar’s fist again connected with his gut.

Oskar turned to the other guard. “Don’t worry about the witcher.”

Oskar threw a punch at Jaskier again. This time the bard was able to dodge it, but with his hands tied he stumbled and fell. Jaskier, face on the stone ground twisted around and said “I think you may underestimate how troublesome the witcher can be.”

Oskar reached down and yanked him up by the scruff of his blouse, which was all but ripped off now. Thankfully he had a tunic underneath. Oscar held Jaskier an inch from his face.

“The witcher is not going to be a problem for much longer. You’ll see. Enjoy the dungeon.”


	7. Farewell Wanderlust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is hunting a bruxa for King Kazimir. But the bruxa is also hunting him. The creature drugs him and makes him dream hellacious dreams (as bruxas are wont to do). His dreams start out as sweet memories of simple moments spent with Jaskier--moments he hadn't understood the significance of at the time. Only with the bruxa in his mind they have much darker endings. 
> 
> “Geralt.” Said Jaskier. “You deserved better than that.” There was feeling in Jaskier’s words that took him aback. 
> 
> “Hmmmm.” (*dismissive)
> 
> “I mean it,” said Jaskier. His look was so sincere, so earnest, that Geralt had to look away.
> 
> “Jaskier, your lot in life has nothing to do with what you deserve. Life is not fair, with trials only awarded to the evil and rewards to the good.” Geralt pressed his palms to the ground on either side of him to stop himself from cradling Jaskier’s face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst, the angst really ratchets up here, fair warning. Sorryyyyy. But it's just magic. It's not real.

**Geralt**

Witcher potions would kill any ordinary man. But Geralt of Rivia was no such thing. He tilted his head back and poured the toxins down his throat. He knew he was drawing closer to the Bruxa he planned to decapitate. Its scent had begun as a whisper but was now shouting at him like an angry drunk. Geralt knew that he would soon be within earshot of the thing. And he needed the element of surprise. He had decided to wait until the sun sunk a little lower. He had the silver sword slung over his shoulder along with his steel blade. His hair was tied back and his golden eyes intent. 

Geralt was crouched in a cramped, dank cavern. He was positioned just inside the cavern opening, allowing him to peer out into the forest. The potion he had taken gave him the ability to see in the darkest night, which would be in a few hours. He could feel the potion buzzing through his body. He knew his eyes were turning marble black. He knew the black was spreading until it framed his eyes and snaked in tiny black branches towards his cheeks. He put the bottle back in his pack and leaned forward, touching the fingers of one hand to the ground for balance. Ivy vines twisted lazily down from the top of the cavern entrance and whispered close to his face. 

Geralt knew there was no room for error. Bruxa were formidable prey. The kind of prey that could become the hunter in one fatal heartbeat. Bruxa could knock down and blind a grown man with a scream felt in the marrow of the bones. Bruxa were telepathic, so they could toy with their prey by manipulating their mind and dreams. Geralt had yet to experience that particular horror and had no desire to change that today. The witcher had suffered every blow. Poisoning. Slashing. Stabbing. Pummeling. The scars marking almost every part of his solidly built body attested to that fact. But he would experience it all ten times over rather than having his mind meddled with. 

He shifted his weight against the stone wall, listening. He could hear drops of water smattering on the rough stone in the back of the cavern and trickling through the soil to join the groundwater below. He could hear the branches swaying outside the cave. He honed in on the birdsong. Bruxa’s could imitate the birdsong eerily well. They could appear beautiful, then draw closer to reveal goulish malevolence. They could be either. Ethereal or infernal.

Geralt planned to wait for his moment, then move swiftly in silence. With any luck he could kill the bruxa, bring the carcass back to the cavern, go fetch Roach (he had left her in a safe place about a mile away), and sleep a full night in shelter. Then in the morning he would ride back to Dol Blathanna. He would be back well in time to watch Jaskier play on his new lute for the festival. Geralt pictured Jaskier in his element, enthralled by music. Jaskier lighting up with joy at the applause and love of the crowd. Geralt’s heart squeezed. He quickly dragged his thoughts from Jaskier and focused again on the task at hand. He stood slowly and brushed the ivy away to survey the forest. It seemed clear and quiet, except for the twilight sounds of the flora and fauna. He ventured out onto the lip of the cave. There was a short ledge in front of him, and leafy forest lay out beyond.

Too late he heard a pebble roll and drop from the slope above his head covering the cavern. An inhuman scream violently pierced the air just as a figure dropped from above, hitting Geralt with the full force of its legs. Geralt’s vision blanked and he flew backwards and tripped, slamming his back onto the rocky cavern floor. His swords clattered beneath him and his head bounced on the stones. His training instantly kicked in. He shoved down his shock and scrambled to his feet. He still couldn’t see, but he had many other senses left to use. He reached for his sword but before he could grasp the hilt, he saw a woman’s face. Not with his eyes but with his mind. If his mind was a dark room she had appeared inside it like a lantern ignited. Her visage filled his vision. Black voluminous hair snaked around her face. She was so milky white she was almost transparent. Her eyes looked manic. She was inside of him somehow. 

“Well. Hello Geralt of Rivia. This is my lucky day. The beautiful and wild white wolf ensnared in my net.”

Geralt recoiled, as though drawing back could dislodge her. He tried to scramble away, still on his back. But he wasn’t fast enough. He felt something slash across his neck. He reached and touched the liquid trickling down his neck. Was it his own blood? 

“Get the fuck out of my head,” he demanded, low and menacing. She laughed. Her mouth opened wide and blood dripped from her sharpened teeth. She sounded truly merry.

“Get out!” This time he shouted rough and commanding. He was breaking into a cold sweat. What had she dosed him with? 

She laughed again. “It’s too late.” she said. “I knew you were coming, witcher. It’s over.” Her hissing voice sounded like ten people. It slithered around his head. “The paralysis potion is always effective. Your limbs will begin to fail you.” Geralt did feel sluggish. What was happening? “I’m not allowed to kill you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to have fun,” she said.

Geralt felt something hard strike his temple and everything turned pitch black.

....

_Geralt opened his eyes._

_He was sitting on the bank of a brook in a sunny meadow, polishing the handle of his silver sword. He felt like he’d forgotten something. A wave of nausea flowed over him. He felt a bat flap its wings in his head. No that can’t be right. But then it was gone. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember what he had been thinking. Best to concentrate on his sword hilt. They had just decided to fish for their dinner, hadn’t they? He noticed a presence to his right. A mop of soft brown hair. A maroon tunic. Of course. Jaskier had been preparing the fishing line. Everything was fine. He remembered this._

_“Geralt, you never talk about your mum,” said Jaskier. His nimble fingers lined with rings, were working on a knot in the line. His linen breeches were stained from the bait. The top of his shirt was untied and the sun glinted off of a gold pendant nestled in the hair on his chest. He looked relaxed. Happy. Flushed in the sun. The tip of his tongue darted out as he squinted at the knot._

_“Well?” asked Jaskier conversationally._

_Geralt replied with a “hmmm.” (*really that’s so interesting really I hadn’t noticed.)_

_Jaskier persisted. “I saw you tell that little girl in the village to listen to her mum. You had a look in your eyes. I’d never seen that look. And I thought I’d seen all the looks.” Jaskier had the carefully casual tone he adopted when asking Geralt personal questions. It said, answer, don’t answer, it’s fine, I’ll be happy either way. Just don’t freak out._

_“There’s nothing to tell. I barely knew her,” said Geralt absently._

_“Really? You must have gone into your Witcher training young then?”_

_Geralt thought for a moment. “Yes. I was small. I would have preferred chasing the sheep and playing with my carved horses. But you know parents. They think they know what's best for you.”_

_“They do indeed. My father would be much happier if I were back teaching at the university.” Jaskier placed the line next to him on the bank and fished a second one out of a bag. “Still. You mother must have missed you terribly.”_

_Geralt shrugged and put down the cloth. He picked up the stone he used to sharpen his knives. “Well. She would likely have been worried. The trials kill most kids.”_

_Geralt paused and looked out over the brook. It really was a beautiful day._

_Jaskier had gone very silent. Then he slowly intoned “WHAT? They what?”_

_Geralt began sharpening his sword. “They kill most kids. The vast majority die during training.”_

_Jaskier turned his body to face him. “Wait. So your mother just dumped you off somewhere you would almost certainly be killed?”_

_Geralt looked over at Jaskier and was surprised to see his eyes looking incredulous and his mouth hanging open. The fishing line was dropped and forgotten._

_Geralt laughed. “I’ve never seen you speechless. You didn’t know this?”_

_Jaskier sputtered. “You’ve never spoken to me about witcher training! So how else would I know?”_

_“You never asked.”_

_“Well, that would be a weird thing to ask Geralt. ‘How many kids die during witcher training’ I assumed the number was none to almost none. I would have assumed you didn’t train at all until adulthood.”_

_“Ah well.” Said Geralt. “Parents. Anyway, I made it, didn’t I? I’m fine.”_

_Jaskier began sputtering again. Geralt chuckled and shook his head. He returned his attention to the sword hilt. Geralt was looking at a particularly hard to reach angle when the sword jerked from his hands and was tossed to the side._

_“Hey!” he looked up._

_Instead of his sword between his legs, Jaskier was squatting there looking up at him. In this light, Geralt could see a few light freckles on Jaskier’s nose. Under the sun like this, he could also see green and blue flecks in the bard’s grey eyes. Geralt was momentarily transfixed. And Jaskier’s expression. Was it pained? Jaskier put a hand on each of his knees. Warmth spread up Geralt’s thighs. He guessed that good weather had a warming effect on a man. Geralt felt the desire to reach and close his hands over Jaskier’s. Jaskier’s talented hands. Warm them. Touch the lute string calluses on the tips of his fingers. Geralt stuffed it down._

_Jaskier was looking at him aghast. Oh right. The conversation. Parents._

_“Geralt. No. That is not ‘just parents’” insisted Jaskier. He sounded pained._

_Geralt sat back a little, unconvinced. “Well, it was mine.”_

_“Geralt.” Said Jaskier. “You deserved better than that.” There was force in Jaskier’s words that took him aback._

_“Hmmmm.” (*dismissive)_

_“I mean it,” said Jaskier. His look was so sincere, so earnest, that Geralt had to look away._

_“Jaskier, your lot in life has nothing to do with what you deserve. Life is not fair, with trials only awarded to the evil and rewards given to the good.” Geralt pressed his palms to the ground on either side of him to keep himself from cradling Jaskier’s face in his hands._

_Jaskier lightly squeezed Geralt’s legs to draw the witcher’s eyes back to him. “Look. I know you think I’m being weird. Duly noted. But humor me. I would feel better if you knew that you deserved better.” He held Geralt’s gaze and there was love there._

_Raindrops hit Geralt’s face and he flinched and looked up. Storm clouds were converging overhead and the sky was swiftly turning black. Raindrops became sheets of water. Geralt had the sensation of remembering something important but it was fuzzy. Something was wrong. Was he dreaming? Lightning flashed and he looked down at Jaskier’s face. Jaskier hadn’t moved. He didn’t seem to notice the rain lashing his face. His hair was clinging to his cheeks and rain was dribbling down his face over his lips and dripping from his chin. But he still looked at Geralt with earnest concern. Then something changed._

_Geralt felt as though he were being possessed. He heard wings flutter. There was a laugh from the back. His sword was in his hands. How had it gotten there? He lifted the sword and pointed it at Jaskier’s throat. Everything in Geralt screamed for his body to stop. He exerted every shred of strength he could muster. Jaskier’s face changed from kind determination to a mix of confusion and hurt. Geralt plunged the sword into the bard’s throat. Jaskier never even had a chance to scream. Never had a chance to run. His face was frozen in agony and devastation. Geralt watched the light go out in his eyes._

Geralt woke up howling, “No! No no no!” He couldn’t say anything but “no no no no no no.” He heard the bruxa cackling. The cavern gathered around him and he remembered. He said out loud to himself, “It wasn’t real it wasn’t real he’s ok. It wasn’t real.”

......

“By the gods that was delicious.” hissed the menacing voice echoing inside of his own head. Geralt shook his head, again trying to dislodge it. But it did not move. His sight was back but as he tried to jerk up he realized his limbs were heavy and he slipped backwards. He was again flat on his back. There was a trickling sensation spreading through his limbs. He could still see well even though the cavern was darker now. The cat eyes potion would work at least until dawn.

Geralt snarled. “What are you doing to me? Why?”

“What?” the voice hissed like a malevolent symphony. “The sluggishness is just a little potion. Humans are so diabolical. Soon you’ll be fully paralyzed. The dreams are to keep you occupied so you can’t fight me while you still have use of your body. And honestly, they are so much fun.”

The cavern began to disappear into darkness once again. Geralt could hear the bruxa laughing. Geralt tried desperately to cling to reality, like a man scrambling for purchase on tumbling gravel. But try as he might, he fell. 

_......_

_Geralt walked down an echoing gray stone hallway leaving a castle. He felt as though he had forgotten something. But the feeling subsided. He hadn’t forgotten anything. He was in the castle at Temeria. He remembered this one. He was going to contain the striga and save the princess. Geralt was jolted by a voice to his right. Jaskier walked fast to keep up with him. The realization that the poet was there, made him feel instantly calmer._

_“Geralt. Talk to me. Please slow down.” Jaskier was breathing a little faster than normal and a sheen of sweat covered him. “What the fuck was that about?”_

_“What do you mean?” asked Geralt absently._

_“WHAT DO I MEAN?” Jaskier almost shouted._

_Geralt stopped. Jaskier rounded on him and blocked his path._

_“Jaskier, I don’t have time for this. Either you’re in or you're out.” Geralt felt irritated. He just wanted to get this over with one way or the other._

_“I’m in of course I’m in. I’m always in. But what was that part about you dying?” asked Jaskier._

_“I didn’t say I was going to die,” said Geralt. If that was all this was about he’d like to get on with it. Geralt started forward but Jaskier held his hands out to stop him._

_“Yes you did. If you can’t kill the Striga.” Jaskier pointed at Geralt’s chest for emphasis._

_Geralt frowned. “I mean, yes bard. That’s how it works.”_

_“What the fuck do you mean?” insisted Jaskier. “What happened to giving it your best shot and then escaping if you fail? You know, with all of your organs still functioning. Living to fight another day?”_

_“Running away?” Geralt looked perplexed. “Jaskier, that’s not how this works. It’s our code. We do the job or we die doing it.”_

_“Well it’s a stupid, wasteful fucking code!!” Jaskier was starting to sound shrill and annoyed._

_“How?” asked Geralt. “How is that wasteful?”_

_Jaskier was practically shrieking now._

_“WHAT DO YOU….??” He took a breath, calmed himself, and tried again. “Why should you die if you can’t kill a striga?”_

_“I gave my word,” said Geralt simply. He felt as though he were explaining to a toddler why the sky was blue. It just was._

_“Geralt. I can’t believe I have to say this, but your life has value. More value than a code, which is merely a bloody concept. Think of all the people you help. You know what? Don’t think of that. It doesn’t matter. YOUR life has value. Just YOU.”_

_“Why?” asked Geralt. He wasn’t sure what he was asking. He had lost the plot._

_“WHY NOT!? Ok. Ok. Put it this way. Do you kill people for sport?” asked Jaskier._

_‘No. Obviously not.” said Geralt._

_“And why not?” asked Jaskier slowly, now sounding like an exasperated professor beginning to worry that his pupil had not done the reading._

_“Because human life has value,” said Geralt._

_Jaskier waved his hands wildly. “Are you not getting the connection here? If other people’s lives matter, why doesn’t yours? What is so special about you that you have no value?”_

_“It’s not. I’m not. You don’t get it. It’s not about value. It’s just my job,” said Geralt, and tried to move around Jaskier again._

_Jaskier again planted himself in front of Geralt and put his hands on Geralt’s shoulders. He leaned closer and said slowly and quietly but with feeling dripping from every syllable, “Fuck. Your. Job. Geralt. Sometimes you will fail. And when you do, it is more important to preserve your life.”_

_“I do.” insisted Geralt. “I try to preserve it. But if I can't, I can’t.”_

_Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s shoulders. He sounded sad now. But he still looked directly into Geralt’s eyes._

_“Geralt how do I convince you that your life matters just as much as anyone else’s?”_

_Raindrops trickled onto Geralt’s face. A sickening feeling rose in him. This was familiar. Terror pooled in his stomach. Something was wrong. The rain turned into a tempest. Jaskier was standing there still, as though he didn’t notice. He looked quizzically at Geralt waiting for his answer. So kind. So loving. So lovely. Geralt lifted both hands and grabbed Jaskier by the neck. He tried to stop. He tried so hard to stop. He dragged every bit of energy he could from the depths of his heart but it didn’t help. Jaskier’s arms dropped. He squelched out a cry that Geralt’s hands swiftly squeezed into squeak. Hands that he knew held strength no normal man could match. Hands roughened by sword hilts and taught to kill. Jaskier grabbed onto his arms and tried to break free but Geralt had caught him unawares. Geralt watched Jaskier’s fearful and terrified eyes fill with tears and then he watched Jaskier slump lifeless from his outstretched hands, open eyes staring into nothingness._

_....._

Geralt awoke screaming like a wild animal that had been speared through the heart. Primal. Guttural. He shouted. He could still shout.

“I’m going to kill you. I’m going to rip out your entrails and slice your head from your shoulders.” Geralt cried.

The bruxa sounded delighted. “Oh, I think the potion has almost completed its intended effect. This is such a delightful way to pass the time. One more should do the trick.”

Geralt screamed “No, gods!” and the black closed over him again.

_Geralt was sitting in a tavern with a tankard of ale. He felt a sense of deja vu. Was he forgetting something? He heard wings flutter. A laugh from the back. No. There was nothing. He took a swig of his drink. His muscles were sore from the hunt earlier, but in a way that made him feel alive. He had taken a bath and was relatively at ease. Geralt didn’t like crowds but he could handle an unassuming tavern as long as he could tuck himself away and not draw too much attention. So he had chosen a seat off to the side on a bench and was watching Jaskier entertain the patrons. The bard was in rare form today. Picking his lute, stepping, almost twirling as he worked the room so that every person in the bar felt he was singing directly to them. Women swooned. A few men too. Other men glowered. The bard always made people feel something. Loving. Loathing. But always something._

_Geralt mused. Jaskier actually would be quite good at combat with that kind of grace. Dancers could do well in a fight. They had dexterity. Adaptability. Geralt shook his head. Why did he always make things about violence? Jaskier was a poet. He brought people joy. He had significantly improved Geralt’s own fortunes. He didn’t need to also crush the brains of monsters. The bard’s solid but slim form was sheathed today in a sea foam green vest and breeches. They were tailored snugly around his hips and waist. When Geralt had helped fix Jaskier’s collar earlier that morning, the bard had winked and said ‘you work with your assets’. Geralt had been so close he could feel Jaskier’s breath on him but had managed to keep enough presence of mind to huff and mutter ‘the vanity.’ But when Jaskier was not looking he had appraised his bard’s backside appreciatively before reminding himself to stop._

_Jaskier played the last notes and bowed. He accepted the coins offered graciously with a charming smile. Then he headed straight for Geralt and plopped down on the seat next to him. Geralt instantly felt more relaxed. It must have been the ale doing its work. Jaskier dropped his head down on Geralt’s shoulder for a moment and Geralt couldn’t resist a small smile as he looked determinedly down at his tankard. Jaskier stood and beckoned the serving girl for drink. Then he sat again, leaning away this time so he could look directly at Geralt. Geralt felt Jaskier’s eyes on him. He took another swig and pretended he didn’t._

_“Well white wolf? What did your royal broodiness think of my performance today? Three words or less.” He flashed him a knowing grin. “And I don’t want any pie analogies.”_

_“Hmmmmm.” (*thoughtful)_

_“Words, Geralt. Use your words.” said Jaskier with affection. Geralt took another drink before answering._

_“A bit misleading.” Said Geralt counting off three words on his fingers._

_Jaskier looked intrigued._

_“I must say, I’m pleased you’ve thought about it that much.” said Jaskier. “To be honest I’m pleased you were even listening.”_

_“Well, the song is about me.”_

_“Of course it is about you. They’re all about you Geralt.” Jaskier waved his hand through the air as if pointing to all of his fine songs._

_Geralt startled and whipped his head around._

_“What? Wait. What? What does that mean?”_

_Jaskier grimaced and drew a deep breath._

_“Just a jest my dear witcher. A jest of course.”_

_“Oh.” said Geralt. “Of course. My sense of humor was beaten out of me this morning by that fucking basilisk.”_

_Jaskier rolled his eyes and looked at him with an expression Geralt could not parse._

_“Anyway,” said Jaskier, “Continue. You were referring to ‘Toss a Coin’ of course.”_

_“Yes.” said Geralt. “Of course. And it's just. A friend to humanity? That's a dramatization at best.”_

_Jaskier looked affronted and put one hand on his heart. “What? Why would you say that? It’s the least melodramatic thing I’ve ever written. You are a friend to humanity. “_

_“Jaskier,” said Geralt. “I’m just doing my job. They pay me coin. It is a transaction. It’s useful but let’s not get worked up about it.”_

_Jaskier looked at him thoughtfully and stroked his own chin absently. “Hmmmm.”_

_Geralt recognized that the bard had just done what he must have believed was a brilliant impression of himself. He ignored it. Jaskier continued. “So. Is that what you think I’m referring to in that song? Interesting.”_

_Geralt felt a flash of annoyance. “Of course I do. What, am I too stupid to appreciate poetry?”_

_Jaskier nudged Geralt’s arm. It barely moved. Geralt was more like granite than flesh sometimes. “Ha, of course not my darling wolf. You appreciate me. And I am poetry in motion.”_

_Geralt rolled his eyes but one side of his mouth quirked up. The waitress came over and handed Jaskier his drink. The bard flashed his most charming smile at her. She shook her head and pursed her lips, but as she walked away Geralt could see her smiling fondly. Jaskier took a swig. Then continued._

_“Do you remember the party we went to in Cintra? The betrothal?” He tilted his head and looked at Geralt closely._

_“You mean when I invoked the law of surprise and changed my life forever? Yes. I remember,” said Geralt._

_Jaskier ignored his sarcasm. “Duny looked like a monster. Everyone else was ready to draw and quarter him. Including your allies and a few friends. But you jumped in, never having seen him in your life, and fought them all off.”_

_“Well. Of course.” said Geralt, as though Jaskier had just told him that water was wet._

_“Geralt.” said Jaskier, determination entering his voice. “It isn’t an ‘of course’ to most people. Most people would have seen someone different and assumed he was a monster. Most people would have stood with their friends, not the ‘monster’.”_

_Geralt thought for a moment. “I have experience being judged by appearances.”_

_“Geralt,” said Jaskier. He slung his leg over the bench so he was straddling it and scooted closer until he was inches from Geralt. He touched the small of Geralt’s back and said carefully, as though he really wanted Geralt to hear him. Truly hear him._

_“It isn’t the monsters you kill that makes you good. It’s the ones you don’t kill.”_

_Geralt was looking down at his pint. He saw raindrops fall in it. Nausea swept over him. Something was wrong. Anguish bloomed in his chest. He looked around wildly. Jaskier was still there next to him. Still touching his back. Not noticing what was now a torrential downpour in a darkened tavern which was now empty other than them. Geralt tried to stand up and run. He didn’t know why but he knew he had to leave to protect Jaskier. He tried to scream for Jaskier to run. He couldn’t make a sound. Air puffed from his throat. Panic flooded every cell of his body. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew he was going to kill Jaskier. He didn’t know how. But he was sure he would. His eyes were filled with water, he couldn’t see. His hands began to search for a dagger he kept in his boot. He was jolted by something flung over his lap. It was Jaskier’s leg. He did not remember this part. This hadn’t happened._

_Jasker was hiking himself up onto Geralt’s lap. The tall but nimble bard managed it, pushing himself in between Geralt and the table. The bard. His bard. Was straddling him. Geralt’s hands reached for Jaskier’s hips and gripped him. He knew he was gripping bruises onto his friend. But he had to squeeze harder. He knew he couldn’t stop himself from killing Jaskier (again?? Had he done this before?) but he hoped he could slow it._

_Jaskier took Geralt’s face in his two hands. Geralt squeezed harder and tears leaked from the side of his eyes. It was this goddamned wind and rain that was pelting him. It was dark and the tavern was filled with the sounds of sheets of rain falling on the old worn wooden bar and floor. He could still see Jaskier’s face because the bard was now leaning his forehead against Geralt’s. Their noses were touching. Rain streamed down them both as they clung together._

_Despite the raging storm, when Jaskier whispered, the words rang in his head._

_“All the pins inside your fretted head_

_And your muttered whens and hows_

_All your mother's weaves and your father's threads_

_Let me rob them of you now_

_Cos I'll darn you back together_

_When you think that you're bereft_

_And you'll wail, you'll scream, but I'll never stop_

_Cos it's all that I have left”_

_Geralt was so bewitched by the words his body had stilled. He knew the words weren’t actually an enchantment. But somehow they’d had the same effect, purging the possession on his body. But once Jaskier fell silent apart from his soft shallow panting, Geralt was overtaken again by the ferocious murderous power. He squeezed Jaskier’s hip bones harder, but any resistance he had managed was spent. The witcher’s right hand released Jaskier’s hips and moved to the dagger strapped to his back. There were always so many daggers. His fingers closed on a narrow cold hilt._

_But then Jaskier whispered “I love you, dummy.” and leaned down to take Geralt’s lips in his. Jaskier’s insistent kiss was like an anesthetic flooding the witcher’s body. He warmed. His arms loosed. He had control of them back. His hands were his to do with as he pleased. He reached up to tangle them in Jaskier’s wet hair. He pulled the bard in closer. Jaskier’s lips were a welcome warmth in the pounding cold and rain. The bard shifted his hips to press himself tightly up against Geralt. Despite the fear and trauma of the vision, Geralt’s body responded. This was right. Geralt cupped Jaskier’s jaw, thumbing the bard’s mouth open just a little more, he dipped his tongue in and_

_Jaskier disappeared into thin air. Geralt’s hands were empty. His lap empty_. 

.....

The cavern rushed back overhead. The bruxa screamed another ear splitting scream. Geralt oriented himself. He was bruised, drugged, but oddly, calm.

“How did you do that, witcher? What sorcery is this?” she spat. She was floating before him in the flesh. Her white dress was dirty yet glowing. Her face burned with rage. Her voice was still inside his head like a worm burrowed into the soil. 

“Fuck off,” said Geralt. The last nightmare had calmed him. But nothing could ever make him forget what she made him do. What Jaskier’s face looked like utterly betrayed. But it wasn’t real. Thank the gods, it wasn’t real.

The bruxa screamed, clenching her fists. She wanted to tear him apart, that much was obvious. But she stayed where she was. Why wasn’t she killing him? In this drugged state she probably could. Geralt tried to concentrate on locating his swords by touch. 

The bruxa noticed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late. You are paralyzed now. It will last until morning. They’ll be here in a matter of hours to do with you as they please.”

Geralt laid on the rocky floor of the cavern, a place he would like to leave and never visit again. His limbs were heavy and his mouth was beginning to feel numb. But he had more presence of mind than he’d had since that damnable thing had first shrieked at him...how long ago? That last vision had managed to cut through the panic. He felt like a reasonable estimation of himself again.

“Who is coming for me? And what the fuck is a bruxa doing poisoning men? Instead of drinking their blood?”

“You aren’t a man.” she hissed.

Geralt managed a tiny twitch of a shrug. She looked at him with resentment, but continued.

“I made a deal. This is the way I get my love returned to me.”

“Fuck.” said Geralt. “Your what? What kind of turgid melodrama have I stumbled into?” 

Her eyes bore into him, looking offended. “You think I can’t love? I can. I have a love. He is delicious. And King Kazimir took him hostage.” she hissed. “Contemptible refuse of a man.”

“Well, I won’t disagree with you there.” said Geralt. While he listened, he tried to mentally take stock of his injuries. His hair was matted around his sweating face, and he was covered in bruises. But he wasn’t bleeding from any major artery. That was a blessing. If he believed in blessings.

Geralt scoffed. “I’ve seen what bruxa consider love. You feed off of him and kill his neighbors in his sleep.”

The bruxa bristled. “Foul witcher. You think you are better than me simply because you used to be human.”

“That fact does me no favors,” said Geralt. “Humans can be the worst monsters of all.”

“Oh, that I know” hissed the bruxa. “Take my love for example. While I do all of this for us, I worry he is the one who actually betrayed my whereabouts to the king. I fear he is sentimental about the lives of the villagers. I have noticed his ardor fading as of late. I will resolve it. I will win him back.”

“Why don’t you just leave him be? Why would you want someone who doesn’t want you?”

She hissed. “Oh, he doesn’t know what he wants. His mind is clouded by the vicious little humans saying I am a monster. I’ll show him.”

“That’s what makes you a monster. Terrorizing a man you claim to love? Taking away his choice?” Geralt was aware of the bit of irony there but he wasn’t going to dwell on it.

The bruxa shrieked. “You think your love is better than mine?? What because your bard whispers such sweet little morsels into your ear??? Is that what you think??”

“No, it’s better because I have no plan to feast on his entrails,” said Geralt.

“Oh you seemed pretty quick to snuff out his shimmering light.” Said the bruxa.

Geralt felt bile rising in his throat.

“You made me do that.”

“I didn’t tell you what to dream. I just…extracted what was already there.”

“I would never hurt him.”

“You don’t even believe that yourself. Look at you. A bard nuzzles you like a kitten and not a witcher. And look what you did. You probably enjoyed squeezing the life out of him.”

“Fuck you,” growled. “I would never hurt him. But I’ll kill you. As soon as my fingers can wrap around a blade, I swear it I will kill you.”

The bruxa blew over and hovered inches from Geralt’s face. She floated in the air. He could feel the stench from her and see her veins through her translucent flesh.

“Watch your mouth witcher. I may not be allowed to kill you, but I can find that sweet faced bard and gut him like a fish. I can enchant him and make him wish he were never born. I will pluck out those…”

She wretched. She looked down. Geralt’s sword was stuck through her stomach. Her marble eyes widened.

“How...” she whispered. She hung in the air for a moment. That is, until Geralt yanked his sword up, slicing her open. Her entrails dropped sloppy onto his chest and stomach. They were cold and reeked of moths and dust. He raised his other arm and using both swords swiped swiftly and surely. The bruxa’s head stood still for a second, then toppled off of her shoulders and bounced down the cavern floor. Soon after, her mangled body dropped like lead and splatted down onto Geralt, covering him from head to toe in guts and limbs. He managed to roll over enough to deposit her headless corpse onto the ground next to him.

“I seem to be more resistant than other witchers to potions,” he muttered. “Sorry to disappoint.”

However, the potion she dosed him with was working. It had just worked more slowly than the bruxa had anticipated. As he lay there, more lethargy stole over him. He realized with his last sentient thoughts that he really should’ve kept her talking. She was unusually chatty and he did want to know what Kazimir was up to. But he had wanted to fucking kill her even more than he wanted information. So be it.

Kazimir’s men would find him soon. And do what with him? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, no one was around to help him. He was all alone, miles from Dol Blathanna in a remote thicket. Maybe his luck had finally run out. 

“Well,” he thought. “I guess this is what’s happening.”

And everything went black.


	8. Save the Bard, Save the Witcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Princess Chessa sees the royal guard dragging her favorite bard through the halls in chains, she decides to take matters into her own hands. Maybe she couldn't help the witcher. But she could help the bard. And maybe that would be the same thing.
> 
> ...
> 
> Jaskier stood up to his full height and after he grimaced and straightened, a friendly grin spread on his face. He looked as relaxed and pleasant as if she had just walked into a dinner party he was hosting. He signed “Why princess! What brings you down to these nasty dungeons? Shouldn’t you be upstairs rejecting all of your completely unworthy suitors?” 
> 
> She squeaked. “You remember me?” she signed.
> 
> “Of course I do,” signed the bard. “I performed here when you were just a chubby little lass, your legs not even reaching the floor.
> 
> Chessa glowed. Katarina made a disapproving tut tut and reached down for the keys. She rushed forward and began placing keys in the lock. Jaskier came close and leaned on the bars.
> 
> “Rina you look lovelier than ever. How is it that you only improve with age like a fine wine, while the rest of us curdle like old milk?” Chessa looked at her governess whose cheeks were flaming.

**Chessa**

Chessa and Katarina descended lower and lower into the bowels of the castle. With every step the stairs seemed to be getting smaller and steeper. The girl and the woman kept their hands touching the narrowing gray stone walls as they went down in a loop, fingers brushing moss occasionally as the air grew damper. Their footsteps echoed softly, bouncing off of the tight hall. 

Katarina was behind Chessa, just barely keeping up. The governess was wearing the customary blue uniform of a servant, simple and modest. Her wavy hair was tied back in a crooked bun, as though she had needed to sweep it away in a hurry. The governess reached out and touched the princess’s shoulder as she had done ten times already. This time the princess ignored her. So the governess squeezed past the girl and stopped her with her body.

Chessa was in a simple but elegant gown most often used for formal lunches or garden parties. She’d been wearing it when she had seen her father’s goons dragging the bard with the voice of a lark through the palace halls. The same men that watched her too closely and reported back to her father. The same men who said crude things about her because they didn’t know she could read lips. She had her dress clutched in her hands to hold it aloft while she descended the stairs. Katarina had to see that Chessa’s hands were shaking, but the girl’s jaw was set and she looked resolute.

“Chessa please reconsider this,” Katarina signed. “Please.” She mouthed the word as she signed. It was a habit she sunk into when she wanted Chessa to take her seriously.

Chessa looked back at her but was looking through her. She dropped her skirts and signed emphatically. “I told you not to come. I can do this myself.”

Katarina looked at her like she should know better. “Princess I could never leave you to this folly. You know that. You have never even seen the dungeons, how will you rescue someone from them? You’re going in blind.”

“Well I’m already going in deaf so what difference does it make?” signed Chessa shrugging with a forced air of carelessness. She loved her governess but she was done being a helpless child. She was fifteen years old. Katarina would need to adjust herself to the fact that the princess was growing up.

“This is not a jest,” signed Katarina. “The bard is in these dungeons because your father desires it. Who are you to defy your father? And over a man you don’t even know? Madness!”

Chessa wrung her shaking hands, now more distressed remembering the sight of the bard being dragged through the corridors shackled. “If you had only seen.” Chessa paused and composed herself. “If you had seen what they had done to his lovely face! I won’t let them hurt him further.”

Katarina now looked at her as though she were a puppy. “Princess. Your father’s guard hurts people all the time. It is a fact of life you will soon learn, please believe me. And this man, you don’t even know him!” The governess held her hands out palms up, entreating the girl. But Chessa could not be moved.

“I don’t have to. I know his songs, so I know his heart,” she signed.

Katarina’s dropped her head back and looked briefly at the ceiling. She groaned and signed something in the air that roughly translated to `the gods deliver me from teenage girls’. She returned her gaze to Chessa with a patient smile. “Darling princess.”

Chessa’s hackles were raised at the patronizing look. It was a gentle look. But patronizing nonetheless. So she cut in. “It isn’t just him, Katarina. Malitza said my father is planning to harm the witcher. And I don’t believe that the witcher is a monster. If you’d seen the look in his eyes when I mentioned the bard. He loves him. I know it. I can’t just stand by.”

“But you must,” signed Katarina. “Princess you are going down a dangerous path defying your father. You are brave now, but you will see. Anger him and he’ll marry you off to a geriatric degenerate fifty years your senior a thousand miles away from everyone who loves you.”

Katarina held Chessa’s arm and looked pleading. Chessa knew that Katarina felt protective of her, but she had to make her own choices now. Jaskier was locked up and the witcher was in danger. Chessa pulled her arm away and pushed past her governess to continue down the stairwell. Katarina stood on a step for a moment. She looked back up the stairs. She looked after Chessa’s disappearing figure. She heaved a sigh and followed behind her. They were almost to the dungeons anyway. She may as well go the rest of the way.

Dol Blathanna had a central jail in the outskirts of the kingdom, so the dungeons actually got very little use. They were mainly used for prisoners Kazimir wanted to personally torture. Those were mostly people who were threats to his power. Or, in this case, a bard that the guards were forced to spirit away due to his fans outnumbering the guards. Just as Chessa and Katarina reached the bottom of the stairwell, the girl broke into a run and trundled up to the dungeon entrance screaming at the top of her lungs as though she had seen a ghost, smacking into the guard and pulling on his armor in desperation.

The guard snapped to attention. He had been leaning against the wall to rest his joints but now he was ramrod straight. His helmet was knocked askew and his mustached twitched. When he looked down and recognized the princess, he lost his composure and reached for every weapon on his person then looked past her perhaps to catch sight of the terrible monster pursuing her.

Chessa acted fast to draw his attention back to her. She spoke frantically.

“Dear guard! Strong guard! My protector! There is a werewolf loose in the castle! Loose I tell you! I was nearby and you were the closest person! I need help. I don’t know what else to do!”

The guard panicked and looked from the princess to the stairwell. But no werewolf appeared. It was just Katarina who had descended the last step and was walking towards him. The guard recognized her because anyone who knew the princess knew her governess, as they were inseparable.

“Madam please tell the princess that I’m sure it is under control! The captain is handling the situation, yes?” 

“I can read your lips,” snapped Chessa. “And the captain is the one calling for help! If it gets into the throne room my father will send you all to hang!”

The guard went from panicked to wild. The dungeons are not regularly guarded, so his normal post was up in the castle to begin with. There was little glory in guarding a harmless bard who had somehow angered that asshole Oskar, who was mercurial to begin with.

“Stay down here princess. Shut the door and hide behind it. You’ll be safe.” The guard took off leaping up the stairs. He was fairly short for a man, but he took three steps at a time.

Katrina’s mouth was hanging open. “I didn’t know you were such an actress! You little liar!” she signed, stifling incredulous laughter.

“There is much about me you don’t know.” Smiled Chessa primly. 

“Like what?”

“Ok. Not really anything else,” admitted Chessa.

She dashed to the hooks by the door and grabbed both large rusty keychains hanging there. She beckoned to Katarina and entered the dungeon, swinging the door shut behind them and then turning to pull the bolt closed.

The princess stood a moment and let her eyes adjust to the light. Katarina stood behind her grasping her hand as if she expected a werewolf to actually jump out at them. But all was quiet. The dungeons were simple and spare. They consisted of about four cells. Shackles hung from the walls. Some were rusted and some were shiny and new. Spiked cudgels and whips hung from hooks outside the cells. Only one of cells was currently occupied by a figure slumped in the corner. He looked up, blinking in surprise. She had seen that face from afar, and in woodcuts and etches. The soft hair. The youthful face. Julian Alfred Pankratz, bard of her heart. She froze. She had told herself she was prepared to have him look directly at her. But when his eyes met hers, the key rings slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

Jaskier stood up to his full height and after he grimaced and straightened, a friendly grin spread on his face. He looked as relaxed and pleasant as if she had just walked into a dinner party he was hosting. He signed “Why princess! What brings you down to these nasty dungeons? Shouldn’t you be upstairs rejecting all of your completely unworthy suitors?” 

She squeaked. “You remember me?” she signed.

“Of course I do,” signed the bard. “I performed here when you were just a chubby little lass, your legs not even reaching the floor.”

Chessa glowed. Katarina made a disapproving tut tut and reached down for the keys. She rushed forward and began placing keys in the lock. Jaskier came close and leaned on the bars.

“Rina you look lovelier than ever. How is it that you only improve with age like a fine wine, while the rest of us curdle like old milk?” Chessa looked at her governess whose cheeks were flaming. Katarina fumbled the key. She stammered. “I am in love. I am with someone I love. I have a partner now.”

Jaskier’s smile only grew more delighted. “Congratulations. I hope they know just how lucky they are.”

Katarina nodded and blushed again. “She does.”

Chessa came forward to the bars of the cell and snapped her fingers in between them.

“We don’t have time for this.” She signed. “We have to get you out.”

But now that Chessa was up close she could see the state of the poor bard. His eyes were swollen. His face was scratched. His clothing was torn. He was barefoot. Chessa grasped the bars and her eyes widened.

“You look even worse than I expected.” She released the bars to sign. “I saw you being dragged down the halls. Your face. Your cute face!”

“Oh it's nothing," signed Jaskier. "And not that I don’t appreciate this princess," signed Jaskier. "But why are you here? They won’t kill me, I’m famous. And I can handle myself. I’d almost convinced the guard to let me out.”

“That’s what I told her.” said Katarina. “You always land on your feet, Julian.” The governess almost always signed when Chessa was in the room regardless of whether other people could hear, but her hands were still desperately working through each key. So far none were budging in the lock. There were so many keys on the ring, there had to be at least fifty of them.

“Your friend the witcher.” Chessa signed.

Jaskier froze and the braggadocio disappeared in an instant.

“He’s in danger.”

“He’s always in danger princess,” Jaskier signed, but Chessa could tell he was paying close attention now.

“No. It’s worse. My father plans to kill him,” Chessa signed.

Jaskier pressed himself up against the bars of the dungeon.

“How do you know?” he signed.

“Well he came here yesterday to kill a bruxa and to get you back into the festival...” Chessa began.

“That’s what I heard from the darling guards so helpfully rearranging my features,” interrupted Jaskier.

Chessa nodded frantically. “Yes. He asked not for payment but for you to be gifted the finest lute in the kingdom and the best slot for the festival.”

“For a bruxa?” signed Jaskier. “Those are worth a thousand orens.”

Chessa glowed. “He really cares about you.”

Jaskier continued. “But the king revoked my invitation and threw me in the dungeon? So??”

The sounds of Katarina jingling the keys punctuated the silence.

Chessa replied. “He had no intention of keeping his word because he had no intention of letting the witcher back alive.”

Jaskier shook the bars groaning in frustration and leaned his head on them. Then he continued. “It all makes sense now. They wanted me out of the way. And Oskar wasn’t just goading me, he was telling me the truth.”

Chessa nodded.

“Well what are we waiting for?” signed and spoke Jaskier, looking at Katarina.

“A key that fits!” said the governess. She dropped the first key ring, which had been exhausted with no success. She started on the other. There were another fifty keys.

There was a banging on the door. The guard had managed to get to the top of the stairs and back quickly. He shouted. 

“What do you think you’re doing lying about a werewolf? Come out and I am going to march you up to your father and get to the bottom of this. And governess, you will pay for this dearly.”

Chessa felt the vibrations of the pounding and looked at Jaskier. He nodded and signed, “He’s back.”

Katrina tried the last key and it didn’t move. She stared at the keyring in disbelief. Then the three of them stood there looking at each other in shock, hoping one of the others would come up with a better idea. The guard continued to slam on the door.

“Open up!!”

“What do we do?” signed Chessa.

“I can try to seduce him,” said Jaskier. But in my current state, Rina I think you’d be the better choice.” Katarina goggled at him. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” she said. 

Just as Chessa’s tears welled up and she began picturing her punishment when she was hauled in front of her father, the guard fell silent and the door slammed open and hit the wall. Jaskier lept to the back wall of his cell and Katarina and Chessa cowered against the bars covering their heads. A furious looking Malitza rushed in, cape billowing behind her. She scanned the room and her eyes landed on Katarina and Chessa.

Malitza signed furiously, “Get back to your room this instant, princess.”

“I’ve tried.” Said Katarina. “She won’t go.”

Katarina and Chessa stood slowly and the princess crossed her arms while Katarina shifted on her weight trying to look anywhere but at Malitza. Jaskier came back to the bars at the front of the cell. He looked at Katarina then Malitza and recognition dawned on him.

“You’re in trouble, Rina,” he muttered.

“HUSH,” Katarina said.

Malitza was now looking at Chessa though. “Child,” she signed.

Chessa stared. “I am not a child.” Her hands flew in angry staccato.

Malitza sighed. “Very well. If this is what it takes, Let’s get the bard out so I can get you out of here before you are discovered.” The mage held out one hand and the key that was presumably on the guard flew through the air and slapped into her palm. Jaskier whistled, sounding impressed. He looked up at Katarina and wiggled his eyebrows. “Impressive.” Malitza ran to the cell and unlocked it. She swung the door open and gestured for Jaskier to leave. He limped out of the cell and then stretched.

“Run.” She instructed Jaskier. “GO. Save yourself. Save your witcher. Just go.”

“But where?” Asked Jaskier. 

“Out by the caves.” Malitza said urgently. “Ten of the king’s guards are already on their way. I imagine they will ambush Geralt in his sleep. You can’t take them all. Go see Tissaia De Vries, maybe she can help you. She’s staying in the merchant’s house in the center of town.”

Jaskier nodded. He took Chessa’s head in his hands and kissed the top of her head. Then he signed “Thank you princess.” He took off like a flash.

Chessa audibly sighed. Malitza rounded on her. “What do you think you are doing here?” she looked at Katarina.

“And you. I expected better.” Malitza switched to her speaking voice.“You’ll get the guillotine for defying Kazimir. I know you love the child but please think. Her blood protects her. Your does not. I protect you. But you have to let me do it.” She grasped Katarina’s hands and lifted them to her lips. The governess nodded silently. Malitza dropped her hands and looked at Chessa. She started signing again. 

“I will smuggle you out of here princess.” She signed. “But I need you to understand something. Because you understand nothing yet. You cannot do this. You cannot risk the life of your governess because of a pretty man. Katarina thinks of you as a daughter but to your father she is merely a servant. She needs you to remember that. When we start throwing away our safety for that of men, we perish. I don’t care how strong his arms or how lush his chest. ”

Chessa blushed and her face fell. “I was just trying to do the right thing.”

“The right thing is protecting your governess. She loves you. Princess, you will leave someday. Married off. Sent to Aretuza. Who knows where? But Katarina and I will still be here when you leave, at the mercy of your father. He won’t kill you, but us?”

Chessa wanted to argue but she knew it was true. She had seen too many faithful servants sent to the guillotine or the city prisons accused of theft of something equally false and petty. Katarina held out her hand to the princess, and she took it.

The three women walked past the guard outside the door frozen in place with his hands raised in fists. Malitza placed the key on a nail next to him on the wall. “I cast a forgetting spell too but I don’t know if it will hold.” 

“Malitza?” Signed Chessa.

“Yes highness.”

“But If I do not care for the lives of others, even bards and witchers, how am I any better than my father?”

She drew an extra cape over Chessa which rendered her invisible.

“You are already better than your father. You saved the bard. Now the fate of the witcher is in his hands. That has to be good enough.” 


	9. They Let Bards In Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has been broken out of the dungeon. But faced with at least ten armed soldiers against one, he needs help. He's been told the powerful mage Tissaia De Vries is in town. He just has to convince her to help Geralt, despite the fact her second hand impression of the witcher is less than glowing.
> 
> ....
> 
> “And now you tell me you have been roughed up by the king’s guard and have fled the dungeons. So you aren’t even an honest working prostitute. You are an escaped convict.”
> 
> She looked at Jaskier so directly, that the bard felt she knew every coin he’d palmed and every lute string he’d loosened to sabotage a rival. She was a headmistress. And now he felt like a disappointing pupil.
> 
> “I am not!” he protested with a bit of a whine. “I haven’t even been convicted yet!” Somewhere in his mind he understood that he had been outclassed. He had come into her room too emotional to match wits with her. But he had to make the best of it now.
> 
> Tissaia raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Well then, messy, sweaty, not escaped convict, not boy whore, who are you and what do you want? Now that you have barged so rudely into my quarters?”

**Jaskier**

Under normal circumstances, the kingdom of Dol Blathanna bustled judiciously with merchants, tradesmen, and craftsmen. But today Dol Blathanna was uncomfortably overcrowded with visitors moving through its streets like plasma through an artery. Hordes of revelers drank deeply and sang loudly and out of tune. They smelled of stale beer and had cheap flower crowns crammed onto their heads. Occasionally a resident would lean out of a window and call out to them to leave the singing to the bards. The townspeople who would be tasked to clear the streets or clean the sheets after the festival watched dolefully.

Adolescents huddled between houses and wagered their lunches on who would win the contest. Tavern owners were exhausted, but were also putting more coin in their coffers this weekend than they did all year round. And due to the need for more lodging, several of the cities’ most successful merchants had opened their sprawling homes to paying guests at the request of the king. Of course those rooms were reserved for nobility, mages, and the wealthy. Not the riff raff. Unless the riff raff was also, unavoidably, nobility.

Jaskier darted down the hall past the oversized portraits of the merchant’s family. They peered down their noses in haughty boredom. He almost bowled into two well-heeled patrons walking towards him down the hall. He flailed to a stop just in time to step aside for them.

He ran his hands through his sweaty hair and tried to catch his breath as they passed. He heard the woman say “They let the bards in here?” 

The man muttered “He’s a viscount darling.”

The woman uttered an even more disappointed “Oh my.”

Jaskier started to carry on, but he almost tripped on the tufted rug he had bunched up by stopping so suddenly. He kicked the rug back into place and began to run again. He turned the next corner so sharply that he bumped into the wall. The bard normally prided himself on his grace but he was not himself. He was distraught. Geralt could handle monsters, but even a witcher could be ambushed. Even witchers slept. Geralt had told him stories of his comrades gone from the world because they had been unprepared or because they slipped up just a fraction of a second at exactly the wrong moment. His blood boiled thinking about the king harming Geralt. Cowardly duplicitous little weasel. He pictured stabbing Kazimir in the throat and his blood spurting out all over his hands, it calmed his jangled nerves a little.

He righted himself and scanned the hall. His eyes fell on the ornate door to the room he knew was occupied by Tissaia De Vries. Jaskier rapped loudly and impatiently. He only knew the headmistress of Aretuza by reputation. He would have to improvise.

The door swung open to reveal a woman so petite that Jaskier found himself looking down to meet her eyes. She wore a midnight gown with a dramatic collar flared around her face. Her burnt umber hair was smoothly fastened back, not a hair out of place. Her nose came to an elegant point and her lips were pursed. She had the air of a woman who didn’t have time for your shit. There was no mistaking it. This was Tissaia De Vries.

Jaskier settled on a strategy. “I’m so sorry, pardon me,” he said, and he swept past her into her quarters, brazenly brushing her shoulder lightly with his fingertips.

Jaskier worked as a spy occasionally in addition to being a performer. Both of those roles required him to swiftly gather clues about people. He used them to intuit how to get whatever he wanted: information or coin. But this time it was help he wanted. Within a second he took in her neatly stacked books (ordered alphabetically), and her perfectly arranged clothing (arranged according to color). _Ruthlessly organized_. She had already removed the tacky bedspread that the merchant had thought elegant. Jaskier saw it folded in the closet. _A woman of taste. A woman who doesn’t ask permission._ He refocused on Tissaia, who was still holding the door open, incredulity spread on her features. However, before he could launch into his plea, she spoke.

“I don’t know who you are but I can assure you, you are in the wrong room. I am not interested in male companionship this evening or any other.”

Jaskier scrunched his face gently in confusion. They stared at each other for a quiet second.

“You are a boy whore from Madam Amelias?” said Tissaia. She said it as though it were a statement, entirely matter of fact.

Jaskier gasped. He drew himself up in umbrage. “Mistress De Vries I can assure you I would be wasted on Madam Amelia’s dull clientele and--” he chuckled mirthlessly for effect “FAR out of their price range. Have you seen the clumsy unwashed bores she tries to pass off as delicacies?”

Tissaia pursed her lips further and tilted her head slightly. “But you are a whore then?” she asked.

Jaskier placed his hands on his hips and shifted. “Well, no. But if I were, I wouldn’t be found in her pedestrian mediocre...”

As he protested, Tissaia slowly closed the door and walked closer. She examined him like he was moldy bread in the market. Her presence was intimidating even though she had to look up to examine anything above his chest level. She made a full circle around him. Then she cut in.

“I see. You do not work for Madam Amelia,” she nodded.

“Well obviously,” said Jaskier. His words were imbued with ‘I told you so’.

She turned to face him. “Madam Amelia would never allow her staff to work if they had two black eyes.”

Jaskier suddenly remembered the state he was in. Makeup melting off his face, wilted curls, scratches, puffy eyes. He had stopped by his room to yank on clothing, but for once in his life nothing matched. And the bruises. He was standing in front of this immaculate woman and he was at his absolute worst. That’s ok. He still had his wit.

“It was all a misunderstanding! What the king’s guards lack in intelligence they make up for in abysmal manners.” Jaskier said by way of explanation.

Tissaia continued airily as she clasped her hands in front of her cinched waist. “And I have never seen her staff of any sex out disheveled with streaks of kohl down one cheek.”

Jaskier suspected now that he was being goaded. But he was so injured by it that he couldn’t help responding. “I was sweating!! The dungeons are hot as the devil's taint!”

Tissaia frowned and furrowed her brow. “Your doublet is hanging open with your chest exposed, you are positively heaving, and you touched me already even though I am a lady of standing, not an easily impressed barmaid.”

Jaskier knew many a barmaid with exceedingly high standards, but he let it pass.

“So you can see why I would think you an employee of Madam Amelia,” she finished.

Jaskier made a noise like an outraged pelican. “I most certainly would not!”

However, he did round his shoulders a bit and reach for his doublet, fastening a button or two. Not all of them obviously, he wasn’t a priest. Tissaia showed no sign of letting up.

“And now you tell me you have been roughed up by the king’s guard and have fled the dungeons. So you aren’t even an honest working prostitute. You are an escaped convict.”

She looked at Jaskier so directly, that the bard felt she knew every coin he’d palmed and every lute string he’d loosened to sabotage a rival. She was a headmistress. And now he felt like a disappointing pupil.

“I am not!” he protested with a bit of a whine. “I haven’t even been convicted yet!” Somewhere in his mind he understood that he had been outclassed. He had come into her room too emotional to match wits with her. But he had to make the best of it now.

Tissaia raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Well then, messy, sweaty, _not_ escaped convict, _not_ boy whore, who are you and what do you want? Now that you have barged so rudely into my quarters?”

Jaskier reminded himself why he was there and his fear for Geralt quickly shoved aside his pride, though Jaskier certainly felt that even in his beaten disheveled state it was exceedingly obvious that he would be too rich for the tastes of the rabble who frequented Madam Amelia’s. I mean honestly. But he thought of Geralt alone in the wilderness with the king’s guard at his throat and he began.

“Mistress Tissaia, this is a matter of life or death. I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.” Jaskier didn’t normally share his title but since he needed to correct her perception of him quickly, he peppered it in. “My dear friend is in mortal danger. I do not have the means to defeat his attackers alone, so I am requesting your generous assistance.”

Tissaia crossed her arms. Jaskier reckoned that was a bad sign.

“I’m afraid you have mistaken me for a failed mage. One who slinks off to a remote town and attends to the personal problems of townsfolk for coin.”

This was going in the wrong direction. Jaskier mentally ran through his options. Groveling? That would only earn her disgust. Flattery? She’d see right through it. Perversely he felt the urge to make her angry. He wanted to find out if she kept a riding crop in her baggage. But he also rejected that option. There is a time and place for everything, after all. He went with honesty.

“I am desperate. My friend was hired by the king to kill a bruxa. But it hast come to my attention that the king intends to double cross him and kill him! Like a coward! Like a lying cowardly coward! That lies!”

Tissaia looked at him unconvinced. He continued.

“My friend, who is only doing his job, will likely be attacked by several members of the king’s guard. And while I can certainly handle myself, and have my one sword,” He patted his scabbard, “I am not equipped to overpower multiple trained soldiers in armor. And since you are the most powerful person within miles, perhaps on the continent, I am begging you for help.” (Ok maybe a little groveling and a tiny bit of flattery.)

Tissaia spoke slowly, as if attempting to understand.

“So. You. An escaped prisoner. Are asking that I meddle in the king’s affairs. The king who is donating so much of his wealth to Aretuza. The king who is possibly entrusting his daughter to me, and who could throw the mage that serves him into the dungeon just to spite me?”

Jaskier hastened to add, hands waving, “He obviously wouldn’t need to know. Just lend me something. Something magical that can help me against multiple attackers in armor. I’ll go to him either way but I’d like to have a fighting chance.”

“So my reputation is that I am an idiot? A self-sabotaging joke of a headmistress?”

“Of course not. It is not your reputation that drives me to ask such an enormous but important favor, it is my desperation .”

“I am not interested in your petty problems, viscount.”

“Mistress, Geralt of Rivia is admittedly very petty but I love him despite himself and cannot turn away.”

“Geralt?” asked Tissaia. She looked thoughtful. “Geralt of Rivia? The witcher?”

Hope bloomed in Jaskier’s chest. Maybe Geralt had helped her. Worked with her on something. Maybe they were allies. “Yes! Do you know him?”

Tissaia responded coldly. “Just by reputation.”

Jaskier wilted. Her tone of voice made it clear that he had hit a dead end. Then interest sparked in her eyes. She regarded him anew. 

“So. Julian. You must be the bard they call Jaskier.”

Jaskier bowed slightly and held out his hand.

“At your service.”

Tissaia held out her hand carefully and Jaskier hooked her fingertips and bent to kiss her knuckles lightly. 

Her lips quirked. He couldn’t tell if it was amusement or derision. Maybe both?

“Well.” said Tissaia, She dropped her hands and smoothed her skirts in swift strokes. “You aren’t exactly how you’ve been described.”

“How have I been described?” asked Jaskier, intrigued. He loved to hear what people thought of him. He didn’t mind if the gossip was bad or good, just that people were talking about him.

“No matter. It’s irrelevant. I want to know more about the king’s plot. What has our emotionally constipated witcher gotten himself into this time?”

Jaskier’s face lit up. “So you DO know him! He said triumphantly, and clasped his hands together.

“No.” Tissaia said curtly. “We have mutual acquaintances.”

Jaskier was not going to be dissuaded. At least she was listening. “I am not entirely sure.” At Tissaia’s irritated look, he added quickly “I was told by no other than his own daughter..”

“Princess Chessa?” asked Tissaia.

“Yes.” Said Jaskier. 

“She spoke to you?” asked Tissaia.

“She is something of a fan.” said Jaskier smugly.

“Go on,” said Tissaia rolling her eyes.

“The princess knows the king does not expect him to return from this trip.”

“Maybe he just underestimates the witcher’s talents. Bruxas are powerful and vicious.”

“No. It isn’t that simple. A guard who spoke to me implied that Geralt was going to die. It is too much. There is something at play here.”

Tissaia began pacing the room. Jaskier waited patiently. After a few steps, Tissaia froze.

“No. He wouldn't.”

“What?!” demanded Jaskier.

“Not even he would be that stupid.” Tissaia huffed. “Idiots. Superstitious ignorant idiots”.

“What? What are they doing?” Plead Jaskier and stepped closer to her. He stopped himself before he touched her arm.

Tissaia sighed. “The Lord’s daughter is deaf. He has been asking my mage to ‘cure’ her. She told him there is nothing wrong with the girl and therefore there is no cure. And that such spells are jokes. Absurd. But he won’t trust her expertise. He thinks he knows better than a mage on matters of magic. He believes in the superstitions that witcher blood can enhance the senses and thinks that his blood and his ears will be the key to making her hear again.”

Jaskier frowned. “His blood? Ears?”

“They would do an incantation over his blood, then grind his ears and combine it with the blood. Then he would feed it to the child and perform other extremely dangerous spells on her.”

Jaskier cringed in disgust and covered his mouth with his hand.

Tissaia noticed his reaction. “Yes. Well. Like I said. Ignorant superstitious little man. It’s ridiculous. Ears to make you hear. Honestly. Does eating birds make you fly? Does eating cows make you low and shit all over the orchard?”

“So you’ll help me?” asked Jaskier, suddenly feeling even more desperate.

“No.” Tissaia said firmly.

“But you asked...” said Jaskier.

“I need to understand the politics of every kingdom my mages serve. This information is vital to my job,” Tissaia shrugged.

“Well I’m glad for your professional competence but Geralt could die. I need your help.” Jaskier’s voice caught.

“And you think that Geralt of Rivia cannot defend himself?” asked Tissaia. She leveled a gaze at Jaskier. “You think that he needs a bard to help him? He has superhuman strengths and abilities, you know that. In any case, I heard he cast you aside.”

Jaskier felt a stabbing pain in his chest. People knew.

As if reading his mind, Tissaia said “Do not worry. It is my business to know things. It isn’t commonly known.”

“It doesn’t matter.” said Jaskier, just recovering. “This has nothing to do with what he is to me. Geralt of Rivia must live to grunt another day. To slay monsters. To wear tight black leather pants. To break hearts. Even if it isn’t with me.”

“Oh dear.” Tissaia looked at him with pity. “Indeed. Well. Geralt is a legendary fighter. You have no cause to worry. And the last thing I’m going to do is help you irritate my host and the school’s benefactor.”

“I won’t tell a soul. Just teach me something!” Jaskier was begging now and he felt no shame about it.

“That isn’t how magic works. You don’t just read a spell like a recipe for peach pie. You don’t learn it in an instant. Have you had lessons?” asked Tissaia.

“Yes!” Jaskier answered.

“And what are the first principles of organizing chaos?” she asked.

When Jaskier was quiet, she said “Yes, that’s what I thought. And what of your natural power. Are you fully human? Any magical blood?”

“Human,” Jaskier answered dejectedly. At this point he knew it was useless to lie to the woman.

“Then do Geralt of Rivia a favor. Stay out of his way and let him defend himself. Do you not think that in a century of life he hasn’t had to defend himself against ambushes?

“Yes but I wasn’t there to help him then. I’m here now.”

“Bard. Do you know why his hair is pure white even though he looks young?”

“Premature graying? And he kept it because he’s got that silver fox thing going?”

“No. It’s because of the trials. Witchers are made through many trials. Most kids who will undertake them will die.”

“That I do know.”

“Part of the intended effect is for the empathy and emotional responses of the subject to dull. Not become a sociopath mind you. Just a bit less than human.”

“That’s where people get the idea that witchers don’t feel things. Geralt said they were just looking for excuses to treat them poorly.”

“Both can be true. But Geralt, already unusual in that he survived, was singular, in that his body resisted this treatment. His empathy. His human reactions persisted well past those of anyone else. So they did more tests. They poisoned him until his hair turned white and his eyes golden.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Eventually even he reached his limit. We all have them unless we are gods. So they stopped. But he is the strongest witcher of them all. He is exceptional.”

There came a knock on the door. Tissaia motioned Jaskier away. He moved towards the wall behind the door.

He didn’t see the boy at the door but he heard a small shrill voice. “Roland here delivering a message for Mistress Tissaia? The mage Malitza will be on her way to your quarters in an hour.”

Jaskier’s eyes darted around the room feverishly. His gaze fell on an ancient looking tome. If Tissaia wasn’t going to help him, he’d help himself. He heard Tissaia still talking to the boy, so he ripped a few pages from the book. He knew pissing off a mage was foolish but he was desperate now. He needed anything he could use. He also saw a small bundle of items in a cloth and he pocketed it too.

Tissaia shut the door and Jaskier straightened quickly. “That child drives a hard bargain,” she said. “Ok. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Go to your room and keep a low profile. Unless the king still wants you in the dungeon, in which case, leave town. Your choice. But don’t get in Geralt’s way it’ll only make things harder for him.”

“Ok, well. I’m sure you’re right.” said Jaskier. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s slayed every manner of beast in the world. Thank you for calming my nerves you are right of course.”

Tissai then placed a surprisingly gentle hand on Jaskier’s back and guided him towards the door. He couldn’t resist turning and saying, “If you get bored after the festival, come find me. You’d be free to step on me with those pointy heels.”

She suppressed a smile. “Have a pleasant evening, bard.” She swung the door shut.

Jaskier was back in his room in about two seconds. He shut and locked the door behind him. He quickly took out the pages. The festival was in a days and then some. He could get there and back no problem but he needed to move fast. He also needed to move fast because he knew that as soon as Tissaia noticed the pages were gone, he’d be turned into dolphin.

“Please be useful please be useful” he chanted. He opened the pages.

One held a spell meant to freeze a person for an unspecified amount of time. The other was to eject a person’s heart from their body through their throats.

“Holy Melitele.” he whispered. “Remind me never to get on a mage’s bad side.” Then he remembered that is literally what he was doing at this exact moment. He tried to slow his panicking mind and think. 

He looked at the ingredients necessary. The freezing one was pretty straightforward. He could get those ingredients at the apothecary on the way out. The other was a shorter list but required the heart of a goat and the blood of an ox. That seemed a whole lot more time consuming. 

Maybe he’d run into a goat along the way? Maybe his own blood would work? Could you substitute ingredients like in a cake? And if everything else failed, he’d bring his sword and do his worst.

He wasn’t Geralt of Rivia, but he knew where to stick the pointy end.

He only hoped he wouldn’t be too late.


	10. Dislodged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king's guards arrive to find the witcher unconscious on the cavern floor. He is ripe for the killing. Until someone in the woods begins to mutter in Elder. That's when it all goes to hell.  
> ....
> 
> He knew if he got it wrong, it could be the last thing he did. He didn’t completely trust the drugs even though they had been calibrated for a witcher's demonic anatomy. Oskar carefully placed the tip of his sword where the carotid would be. His captain assured him that witchers had their arteries in the same places as humans. When Oskar had it lined up correctly he turned to make sure his men were in place. They had all crept close and were circling the witcher’s body. Beside his sword on the neck of the mutant, there were nine other swords mere inches away. Oskar relaxed somewhat. Even if the witcher awoke, he wouldn’t be able to do more than twitch before nine blades sunk into his flesh like butter.
> 
> The guard made eye contact with his men, then looked back down at the witcher, who still looked at peace. He flicked his wrist forward to slice the artery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is violent. Just a heads up. But trying to rescue a witcher from ten guards was never going to be pretty.

**Oskar**

Oskar was out in the forest in the middle of the night because he couldn’t wait to sink his blade into the mutant’s flesh. Witchers should all be burned for the affront to god and mankind they represented. How this beast had managed to secure the affections of the bard defied reason. The very thought made acid gather at the back of his throat. The mutant looking at Jaskier with those yellow eyes. Probably sniffing him like a mutt. Oskar shuddered.

The guard crept closer to the cavern. As he drew closer to the opening, his steps slowed. He held his breath when twigs snapped under his feet. Normally a witcher would be at his throat by now. But Oskar was not currently being skewered by an iron sword. Good.

Nine other members of the king's guard followed closely behind. Oskar waved at them to stop. The vines at the entrance of the cave had been ripped from their roots and were lying on the ground. Oskar leaned to peer into the cave. He almost vomited.

The moon’s glowing rays fell across the cavern floor, illuminating the witcher lying flat on the ground. His head lolled and his arms were splayed to the side. He looked dead. He smelled dead. However, a closer look suggested that it wasn’t the witcher that smelled of death. It was the intestine of the bruxa. The severed head of the bruxa. The mutilated corpse of the bruxa. They were fallen around the witcher, arranged like the shop of a particularly unhygienic butcher. The gnats buzzing around and the buzzards picking the flesh didn’t seem to mind. Oskar heard one of his men retching behind him. He tensed and stared carefully at the witcher but the witcher still didn’t stir.

At least the bruxa had done her job before her demise. That is, if the witcher was indeed drugged and not dead. The captain had warned him that the king would not be happy if the blood wasn’t fresh. Oskar didn’t particularly want to step any closer to the macabre tableau. But he wasn’t going to let the glory go to anyone else. He wanted to see the look on Jaskier’s face when the disloyal bard learned that Oskar had killed his monster.

The plan was to cut the carotid artery on the mutant, and allow it to flow fresh into the small cork stoppered glass bottle that the king had enchanted and given him. The mage Malitza had turned her nose up at the whole affair. She had wanted nothing to do with it. Oskar had always despised the mage. So arrogant. Never knowing her place. Kazimir’s incantations were probably just as good at any rate. After bleeding the witcher into the bottle, Oskar was to slice off the witcher’s ears and bag them. Then he would take the bottle and the ears back to the city. He was to leave the corpse to be buzzard food. Kazimir would reward him. Jaskier would learn his lesson.

Oskar removed the glass bottle from his pocket. He already held his sword in his hand. He turned and nodded to his men. They would creep behind him and if the witcher so much as twitched, they would all plunge their swords into his body.

The guard crept forward. His shoes crunched on gravel. A little further, and they splashed in the shallow pools of blood. The air tasted of iron. Oskar tried to step around the bruxa effluent but he didn’t have the senses of a freakish witcher. He couldn’t see in light that dim. He put his foot down on something soft. He heard a squelch and recoiled. He wanted to back out of that place and into the fresh air outside. But he had to keep going. When the guard reached the witcher, he looked down. The witcher’s white hair splayed out like a ragged fan on the ground.

Oskar said a silent prayer of thanks that his unnerving eyes weren’t open. That meant the witcher wasn’t dead yet, and that Oskar didn’t have to look into his creepy orbs. Two blessings. The witcher’s hands still rested on his silent blades, one on each side of his body. One iron and one silver. The black of his clothing was slick with blood. Pieces of intestinal tract clung to his torso. Oskar wrinkled his nose in disgust. But he stepped over the witcher until one foot was on either side of the beast.

Regardless of the fact that the mutant was drugged and paralyzed, Oskar didn’t feel safe. One could never feel safe around a witcher. So he pulled the cork off of the bottle quietly with his teeth. Then, with the hand holding the bottle, he used one finger to open a breast pocket and drop the cork from his mouth into his clothing. Then he slowly moved his sword point down to the witcher’s neck. He knew if he got it wrong, it could be the last thing he did. He didn’t completely trust the drugs even though they had been calibrated for a witcher's demonic anatomy. Oskar carefully placed the tip of his sword where the carotid would be. His captain assured him that witchers had their arteries in the same places as humans. When Oskar had it lined up correctly he turned to make sure his men were in place. They had all crept close and were circling the witcher’s body. Beside his sword on the neck of the mutant, there were nine other swords mere inches away. Oskar relaxed somewhat. Even if the witcher awoke, he wouldn’t be able to do more than twitch before nine blades sunk into his flesh like butter.

The guard made eye contact with his men, then looked back down at the witcher, who still looked at peace. He flicked his wrist forward to slice the artery.

But.

But.

His wrist didn’t flick.

Oskar felt panic rise in him. Had he been paralyzed too? No. Of course not. Take a breath. Try again.

He took a breath and flicked his wrist.

Which.

Didn’t move.

Yet again.

Oskar opened his mouth to say something to his men. To get help.

But.

His mouth didn’t open either.

He tried to shake.

He couldn’t.

He tried to scream.

Nothing came out. His lips didn’t even part.

One of his men hissed, “Well?”

Then Oskar felt something dislodge in his chest.

Nothing in a chest was supposed to…dislodge.

It was Oskar’s last thought on the mortal plane.

**Geralt**

In the darkness. In the dead, inert darkness, Geralt felt something burning his chest. His medallion reacting to magic. At first he ignored it. He was tired. It felt so good to rest.

The heat became more intense. Sharper. Persistent.

Geralt groaned in irritation. Then something pierced his side. He didn’t feel pain when he was like this. It was more like a pressure he was all too familiar with. His eyes flew open. His skin still buzzed, so he knew his eyes were still black. Still snaking black tendrils across his face. His skin still chalky white. It took him longer to see that there was a human heart plummeting towards his face, followed slowly by a man in the guard armor of King Kazimir.

He didn’t have time to remember the bruxa and Kazimir. His body reacted on pure instinct. He rolled away fast.

Splat. Thud.

First the heart then the armor covered body slammed down beside him like a rotten tomato followed by a bag of flour. Standing around Geralt were nine soldiers. One had a bloody sword in his hands. He was the one who had stabbed Geralt.

Geralt sprung to his feet, pulling up his swords with him. A few of the guards were still looking at the fallen man in shock. Another few with better wits about them were moving towards Geralt. The one with the bloody sword shrieked,

“Go find out who is casting spells and kill it!”

Two of the men fled the cavern while one of the remaining guards charged Geralt. Geralt drew an Aard sign in the air with the point of the silver sword. The seven remaining guards were knocked off their feet. Geralt dashed past them and out of the cavern. He didn’t know who was casting spells but whoever it was had saved him. He wouldn’t let them be carved up by Kazimir’s guards.

The guards ran ahead of him but stumbled over stumps and roots. Geralt did not stumble, despite the lethargy that remained in his limbs. Despite the injury in his side. Geralt could see as though the sun was up. His witcher senses were already sharper, and then due to the potion he had taken before he was drugged, he could see, smell, taste, and hear anything. He heard the seven guards clamoring behind him. None were a match for his agility in the night. His legs pumped as he caught up swiftly with the two guards. He grasped a knife he kept strapped to his waist and threw it at one of them. It sunk into the man’s neck and he fell with a confused yelp. Geralt lept over the body and pursued the second guard, who had come upon a slumped and muttering figure leaning against a willow. The figure had cuts up and down his arms and blood coming from his mouth. The guard skidded to a stop and pulled his sword. Before he could stab the slumping figure, Geralt swung one of his swords in a loop. It was his second decapitation of the night. The guard fell. Geralt could now see that the slumped figure in front of him was Jaskier. The bard’s eyes were filled with pain and fear but his face relaxed when he saw Geralt.

“Geralt?” he croaked. “Geralt!” but alarmed this time.

Geralt whipped around and dipped as he turned, stabbing forward with his blade slicing the artery on the attacker’s thigh. The man screamed and crumpled, grasping in vain at his spurting blood.

The next guard pressed on, pointing his sword straight at Geralt’s face. Geralt feinted to the left and pulled back up again, shoving his sword up through the jaw of the man and out the top of his skull.

The guard on the end of his sword gurgled and Geralt aimed a kick at his gut. He slid off of the witcher’s sword and fell backwards.

There were five guards left. They fell back a few feet panting and eyeing the witcher. They wisely decided to move in formation. All five began to close in on Geralt. He felt blood draining from his side and sensed himself weakening slightly. It wasn’t mortal but he would become lightheaded soon. He had to get this done with.

The memory of the bruxa was also bleeding back into his consciousness. The paralytic agent. Jaskier dying again and again. Killing him. Feeling the life drain from him. A rage overcame Geralt. He charged. He feinted and spun to avoid the blade of the first man, and threw his blade through the man’s eye socket. The next two fell on him at once.

He kneeled and parried with his remaining sword when he felt his medallion vibrating.

“Jaskier no.” he thought. But by then he heard Jaskier muttering in Elder.

Two of the guards seized up and began choking. Gurgling. Using the distraction, Geralt stabbed one guard in the gut and slashed the other in the neck. He punched the man he’d stabbed in the gut to make sure he bled slowly to death on the forest floor rather than attempting to get back up.

The two men who had seized up were now in fetal positions on the ground shaking. The remaining guard turned and ran for it.

Geralt heard a soft gurgle behind him from the bard. Geralt wanted to turn and attend to him. But having a witness rat out Jaskier could be lethal for the bard later on. So Geralt pulled out his last dagger, which was strapped to his thigh. He held himself very still. Breathed. And threw the blade. It flew like an arrow and hit the guard fast and sure between his shoulder blades. He shrieked and fell.

That might take a minute to kill him but he’d never make it back to Dol Blathanna.

Geralt turned and saw Jaskier slump further against the tree, blood smearing on the trunk and down his face. Geralt dashed over and managed to grab Jaskier before he fell to the ground. The bard sagged in Geralt’s arms. Normally Jaskier’s eyes were almost exactly on his level. Now he all but hung from Geralt’s arms looking up at him eyes filled with relief and love so intense Geralt almost choked. Jaskier tried to speak but he coughed. Geralt hushed him and gently kneeled to the ground, laying Jaskier down. The witcher began to examine Jaskier’s body for wounds. He pressed softly but firmly and moved clothing aside until he worked from the bard’s feet back up to his neck. As he searched, Geralt noticed that crusty blood and flesh were smeared over his own hands. He remembered he had entrails and blood from the bruxa and half of the guards clinging to him. Little flecks of white flesh hung from his scabbard. It was all coming back to him.

Having found no wounds other than shallow cuts on Jaskier’s arms that were already scabbing, Geralt sat on the ground and drew close enough to examine Jaskier’s pupils. Jasker flinched and Geralt remembered what he looked like. Chalk white. Anthracite black eyes. Like a demon. He started to pull away to spare Jaskier the sight when he felt the bard’s hands on his arms clinging to his sleeves.

“Come back.” Jasker whispered. “I’m not afraid of you, ya horse’s ass. You’re just pinching me.”

Geralt looked down and noticed his knee was pinching Jaskier’s side. He pulled back his knee but lowered his torso closer again obediently. He hunched over Jaskier and looked in his eyes.

“Your pupils look normal. But where is all this blood from? What did you do? What magic is this?” Geralt never had any way of knowing whether love or concern showed on his eyes when they were the deepest pitchest black. He looked at him feeling desperate. “What happened to you?”

Jaskier just rolled his eyes up and down Geralt’s face. The bard moved his hands to stroke Geralt’s unnaturally gray cheeks. Geralt stilled himself so he wouldn’t pull away. Jaskier could decide whether he wanted to touch him when he was like this. Geralt wouldn’t decide for him.

Then Jaskier did something that should not have shocked Geralt. If the witcher had been paying attention at all for the past twenty years it wouldn’t have. But it did. Jaskier lifted his head and grew closer to Geralt’s face. The witcher started to pull back and Jaskier just tsked and whispered, “No. I said. Stay.”

Geralt obeyed. Jaskier got so close that Geralt could almost feel the brush of his lips. Smell the warmth of his breath. See the wicked gleam in his eyes.

“You look so hot like this.” Jaskier said then pressed his lips softly to Geralt’s. His lips were a little chapped from being out in the cold forest. There was the slightest hint of iron. But they were sweet and warm and pliant. Geralt was afraid to seize the bard and kiss him back, because he didn’t want to hurt him. Then Jaskier’s head slipped back down and Geralt caught it before it hit the ground. He cradled Jaskier’s head in his arms. He thought Jaskier had fallen unconscious but then he started whispering, so Geralt leaned so low that his ears were practically on the bard’s lips. 

“I wasn’t going to die without kissing Geralt of Rivia,” the bard whispered. Then he fell silent and still.


	11. Put a Sock in Your Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia de Vries realizes that Jaskier has stolen from her so she portals to get her things back. She finds Geralt holding Jaskier, who is dying from a very stupid decisions to use a magic spell he was not qualified to use. Now Geralt has to convince her to help the bard. Can't these two just stay out of trouble? Ever?
> 
> Also, Geralt finally learns what Kazimir is up to and why. And as you might imagine, he is not happy about it.
> 
> ....
> 
> “Please, mage. He is foolish but he saved my life. Can you help?” He was calmer now. 
> 
> “Your bard came to me for help. I turned him away like any sane person would. Then I discover missing pages and spell elements. If I help him, it will encourage every idiot to steal from mages. There have to be consequences.”
> 
> “I will pay anything. Whatever you want. I would be in your debt.” His voice low and soft but insistent.
> 
> The mage shook her head. “Like I want Geralt of Rivia hanging around “helping”.
> 
> “Do I know you?” he asked.

** Tissaia De Vries **

Tissaia was furious. Chaos blossomed from her fingers and formed a flaming circle. The flaming circle floated and spun before her in her chamber at the inn. It expanded until it was large enough to step through. She stepped through it.

The mage travelled through portals as easily as she traveled on horseback. So her eyes adjusted instantly to the dark forest.She heard anguished shouting.

“Jaskier! Jaskier!”

She saw the source of the shouting just in front of her. There was a large man covered in a sheen of sludgy red hunkered over a dark figure splayed out on the ground. There were corpses wearing the uniforms of Kazimir’s guard strewn around the clearing. She walked straight towards the man. As she approached, she wrinkled her nose.

“Geralt of Rivia I presume?” she said. She pulled a handkerchief out of her dress and covered her nose. 

The broad, filthy man looked up, his eyes glassy. His gaze wandered to the flaming portal, but it didn’t register.

The handkerchief was doing nothing to keep out the stench so she put it away with a sigh. She looked down at the figure. As she had suspected, it was the bard, who hours earlier had been winking at her cheekily. He was now lifeless and bloody. His mismatched costume dirty and ripped. Tissaia clapped her hands and Geralt looked back at her. Something seemed to register in his eyes.

“You’re a mage!” said Geralt, nodding at the portal as though he just noticed it. “Can you help us?”

Tissaia ignored the hope in his voice and kneeled down in the dirt next to Jaskier. She began patting him down. His pockets, his doublet. Geralt’s expectant eyes were on her.

“I didn’t find any mortal wounds,” he said. He looked wrecked. He was sprawled out as though he had tripped there, and Jaskiers head was cradled in his lap. Tissaia noted the way his fingers absently stroke Jaskier’s hair, making it smooth and neat as though the bard were expected at a ball and not dying on a forest floor.

“Ah,” she said. Tissaia pulled out folded up crumpled sheets of paper from the inside of Jaskier’s doublet and stood back up.

“Hey!! Give those back!” said Geralt. “Are you stealing from a man who’s dying? Can’t you see he’s in trouble? Help him, mage!”

Tissaia unfolded the pages and scanned them carefully in light of the moon. Geralt continued babbling.

“I could only find these shallow wounds on his arms but his pulse is weakening. It’s almost gone. He did some magic that I did not recognize, so the injury is magic. But you are a mage, you can help us.”

She concentrated harder on the paper. She leaned back down and fished a cloth pouch out of his pockets. “There the rest is. The little thief. Fool.” She muttered.

“Help us!” Geralt was almost shouting now. 

Tissaia finally looked straight at Geralt and anger flared in her again. “Your bard stole from me. Dangerous magics. Now you shout at me to save him? It is not my job to save men from the entirely predictable consequences of their own reckless actions.”

“Please, mage. He is foolish but he saved my life. Can you help?” He was calmer now. 

“Your bard came to me for help. I turned him away like any sane person would. Then I discover missing pages and spell elements.If I help him, it will encourage every idiot to steal from mages. There have to be consequences.”

“I will pay anything. Whatever you want. I would be in your debt.” His voice low and soft but insistent.

The mage shook her head. “Like I want Geralt of Rivia hanging around “helping”.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

The mage continued to stare at Jaskier. She remembered his ludicrous attempts at seduction and his earnest face when he said he loved the witcher. 

“Fine.”

She knelt again and laid her hands on Jaskier. She began to chant in Elder. At first nothing happened. She could feel Geralt holding his breath. Then the blood started to drain further from Jaskier’s face and Geralt’s hands were twitching. Tissaia could tell he wanted to yank her away from the bard. She shook her head as she spoke and he relaxed his hands. Then the color came rushing back into the bard’s face and he gasped.His eyes fluttered open but closed again.

“Jaskier,” spoke Geralt again, like a prayer. 

Tissaia sighed. “He’ll be fine. He just has to sleep the rest off. Don’t wake him at least until the morning if you want him to survive.” She stood up and straightened her collar. 

“Now you need to answer me something,” she said. 

Geralt answered right away. “Anything.”

“Did you help him with this madness?” She fixed her piercing eyes on the witcher.

“No! I would never. I was paralyzed by the bruxa and he did this on his own.” He sounded grim.

Tissaia could tell he was being truthful. She’d had enough teenage girls sneaking out and faking spells over the decades to know a lie when she heard one. She put her hands on her hips and looked at the unconscious bard. “The spell called for the heart and blood of common animals. He obviously used his own.He shouldn’t have been able to do that. It shouldn’t have worked. It also requires advanced ability in Elder. Does he speak Elder?”

“He claims to just barely speak it.”

“No. This required native fluency. Are you sure he’s fully human?” 

“He’s human.” Said Geralt. 

“I’m also to understand that he’s forty years old. And look at him. Does that look like a man of forty years?”

“I’d smell it. I’d smell if he were other than human,” said Geralt.

Tissaia shrugged. “His identity could be protected by a spell. Unfortunately I do not have time to tease out this puzzle.” She turned on her heel back towards the burning portal to leave.

“Can we come through with you? I can come back for Roach later. Jaskier needs medical attention.”

Tissaia looked back over her shoulder. “He’s fine. And if you think I’m traipsing back into Dol Blathanna with one man who is supposed to be in the dungeons and another man that the king wants dead, you’re delusional.”

“Why does he want to kill me? And how do you know who I am? And who are you?”

Tissaia turned back towards him and pressed her lips together. The portal flickered and hovered behind her, like a halo behind a fearsome angel. “I’ll answer the first question.The king wants to cure his daughter's deafness. He sees it as a weakness. A disease.”

“It isn’t,” said Geralt plainly.

Tissaia shrugged. “Men.”

“What have I got to do with it?” he asked. He was still sitting flat on the ground with Jaskier’s head nestled in his lap.

“His mage Malitza is my former student. She told me he thinks witchers are the key to curing her, since you have enhanced hearing.”

“What, my blood?”

“Yes. And ears.” She grimaced as she said it. “Barbaric. Malitza also informed me that he is so sure witchers are the key, that if your blood doesn’t work, he is going to dose her with the alchemical treatments that are part of the process of making a witcher.”

Geralt’s eyes blazed. He moved Jaskier’s head to the ground and stood up, drawing closer to Tissaia.

“Mage. Those potions and formulas were all destroyed in the attack on Kaer Morhen.”

“Apparently, he’s found some. According to Malitza, finding witcher potions has been a consuming passion for him this past year and he has been successful. She suspects Stregobor has been helping him but doesn’t have proof.”

Geralt looked agitated. He ran both hands through his crusty hair. Tissaia grimaced.

“You have to stop him. Tell him he could kill his daughter.”

Tissaia leveled her gaze at him. “Really? The white wolf is so naive? Kazimir doesn’t care, witcher. You know kings. If she cannot draw a good dowry or deliver a useful political alliance she is useless to him anyway. She’s disposable. He has several concubines with whom he’s working on making a son.”

Geralt snorted in disgust. “Then what of the child’s mother?”

“He had Chessa’s mother quietly executed years ago when she didn’t produce a son. Though of course he claims it was an accident. So if you think Chessa will be any different to him you are even more naive.”

Geralt growled. “This cannot be allowed. I won’t allow it. I would sooner break his neck with my hands and wind up on the gallows than see any more children, much less a dove like the princess be tortured and mutated against their will.”

Tissaia was surprised to hear the vehemence in his voice. But judging from his reaction, she had not a single doubt that he would kill Kazimir without regret. “Witcher, you have your hands full. Leave the politics to politicians.I will try to convince the man to desist. I am convincing.”

Geralt stepped forward. “I’m coming with you. Through the portal. Now. I’m destroying the potions and if I can’t I’m getting the princess out. I can take her to the temple of Melitele. The priestess there is a friend. She will shelter and hide her. And if I can’t do that, I’m putting Kazimir down.”

Geralt started towards the portal.

“Stop.” said Tissaia. “Calm yourself, witcher.” she gestured at Jaskier, still lying on the ground.

“You are willing to leave him here vulnerable in the forest overnight? Who knows if Kazimir will send out more men. Who knows if a beast will wander by? Or if he will freeze to death? He did this for you, after all.”

Geralt stopped and looked back at Jaskier. The bard looked worse for wear and not about to wake up any time soon. “You’re right. How long does he need to rest?”

“At least four or five uninterrupted hours.”

“He’ll have it.”

“And then you and your bard need to attempt to find a town in which no one wants to kill either of you. If any such town exists.”

Geralt shot her a look. “Seriously. Do I know you??”

“My name is Tissaia De Vries. I believe you know my friend Yennefer of Vengerberg. A woman who gave far more to you than you deserved.”

“You know Yen?” Geralt brightened. “How is she?”

Tissaia scoffed and waved him away. “She doesn’t need your concern. She’s fine. Better than fine. She is blossoming.”

“Good.” said Geralt. “Yen may have given me more than I deserved. But she only gave me what she chose to give me. She is a fierce woman capable of her own choices.”

Tissaia huffed. “You speak of choices? When you compelled her with a djinn wish? You took away her choices just like everyone else.”

Geralt looked thoughtful for a moment. “Wait. Tissaia? Her headmistress?” he tilted his head. “The one who turned her only friend in the world into an eel? And forced her to push the eel into a moat? That Tissaia?” 

Tissaia cleared her throat.

“I do not claim to be a kind or noble person. But I taught Yennefer control. Of the chaos of herself. She was always in control of her own destiny when she was with me. That has always been her greatest desire.”

“You took her fertility.”

Tissaia laughed bitterly. “Yennefer chose that against my recommendation and behind my back. She strode in and demanded it! Wouldn’t leave until he’d done it. With no anesthetic.”

“Actually, that does sound like her.” said Geralt.

Tissaia looked up at the witcher and pointed at his chest as she spoke. “But what she had left? Her choice of who to love, you took it from her.” 

Geralt looked down at Tissaia and a hmmmm rumbled in his chest. “I saved her life.”

“And if Yennefer wasn’t a buxom beauty with violet eyes? If she looked the way she did when I pulled her from the yard of that disgusting excuse of a father’s house? I am guessing you would have found a way to save her that wouldn’t have cleaved her to you.”

Geralt sighed. He rubbed his face, then looked down at his hands and grimaced. Then he continued, sounding tired. “If I had it to do again, I would do it differently. What is she doing these days?”

“Unlike your bard, she doesn’t continue to follow you like a puppy dog regardless of how you treat her.”

Geralt instinctively looked back at the bard. “He isn’t a puppy. He’s my friend.”

“Then be a friend deserving of it.” Said Tissaia.With that, she turned and started back to the portal.

She had gone a few steps when she heard the witcher’s desperate voice.

“I. I love him. I do love him.” 

Geralt sounded as though he was practicing. Like an awkward adolescent practicing in reflecting glass working up the nerve to ask the pretty girl to the dance. It took Tissaia a moment to realize who he was talking about, as focused as she was on stepping back through the portal.

Tissaia looked back at him in disbelief.

“I don’t care.” 

Then her foot crossed the flaming threshold and she disappeared.

The fire circle sucked closed and Geralt was left once again with only the moonlight and the sounds and smells of the night.. and the corpses… and Jaskier.. to accompany him.

Geralt looked around. He had meant it when he said he wouldn’t allow the king to experiment on the princess. But the king wouldn’t know until tomorrow that his men had failed. Tonight the king would be sleeping in his bed expecting that in the morning he would be delivered the blood and body parts of a witcher. 

Tonight Geralt would walk back to Roach and bring him back to camp. Hopefully along the way he would find the horse Jaskier must have ridden in on. Then he’d bathe in the icy stream, tend to his wounds, and be fresh in the morning to do whatever it took to stop Kazimir. So Geralt decided to make camp right where Jaskier was sleeping.He was too exhausted to drag Jaskier off anywhere more practical.He cleared the ground, and rolled Jaskier onto the cleared area. As he squatted by the bard he couldn’t help himself. His hand strayed again to the bard’s hair. He tucked a strand behind his ear, and impulsively kissed Jaskier on the forehead. 

“ _I_ was supposed to save  _you_ .”

Then he covered him with a blanket from his pack and took off to fetch Roach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to see what would happen if the boys needed help and their only option was Tissaia De Vries.
> 
> Also, there is some heavily implied Elf!Jaskier just because I enjoy it.


	12. The Horror and The Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier are finally both alive, conscious, and together again for the first time since their painful conversation in Posada. But Jaskier senses something has shifted in Geralt. There isn't much time to dwell on it though, because they must get back to Dol Blathanna to put a stop to Kazimir's madness immediately.
> 
> ...
> 
> Jaskier wanted to be cooler. More distant. But he couldn’t help smiling. Geralt was alive. Geralt was happy that Jaskier was alive.
> 
> “And you’re ok too.”
> 
> “Thanks to you,” said Geralt.
> 
> Jaskier needed to put a few more feet between him and Geralt, because he didn’t trust himself not to melt into a puddle when he looked at him like that. Actually, he didn’t know that Geralt had ever looked at him like that. Raw. Unmoored. Jaskier got up and began stretching. “What happened? The last thing I remember is…”
> 
> “Casting a spell that could’ve killed you?” said Geralt. He said it reproachfully but was still looking at Jaskier like the bard had just hung the stars.
> 
> “Well. Yes,” said Jaskier. “But it worked?”
> 
> Geralt nodded. “A member of the king’s guard vomited his still beating heart onto me.”
> 
> Jaskier squeezed his fist and mouthed a ‘Yesss’. 

_You were raised by wolves and voices,_   
_Every night I hear them howling deep beneath your bed_   
****

**Jaskier**

Jaskier’s ears were cold. He reached up to rub them for warmth and his fingers were icy. He felt hard ground beneath him.The bard reached down for the rough blanket he felt covering his legs and pulled it up. He scrunched into a fetal position to warm himself and in doing so, he bumped up against something warm behind him. It was a delicious warmth like a fire and he instinctively wiggled back into it. He heard a breathy groan and felt hot breath on his neck. He knew that groan. That low husky sleepy groan.He was backed up against Geralt of Rivia. He felt Geralt's hips roll into him absently. Something hard grazed his lower back and he squeezed his eyes shut again.

For the past month he’d spent every waking moment convincing himself he didn’t want this man. That he would refuse this if offered to him. That he couldn’t take another day of the agony of loving recklessly without reciprocation. And then he had poured his heart out in Posada and Geralt had just stood there like an ass. But dear god that groan. It sounded like home. It filled his every molecule with love. He needed to be strong. 

“You need to be strong,” he mouthed to himself.

He reminded himself that this one big heartbreak would prevent all the small daily fractures. His heart cracked every day that he poured his love into Geralt of Rivia and the witcher let it leak to the ground watering the weeds. Every day that the witcher ran cold and hot and loved him but wished he didn’t. Every day that he held him tight at night but shrugged him off in the morning.

Jaskier had come to this forest to save Geralt’s life, not to fight this fight again. And Geralt was obviously alive. Thank the gods for that. The bard breathed deeply and pulled himself away from the witcher and into the cold. The heat behind him dissolved. He sat up and looked at the man sleeping like a drowsy mountain beside him. A little drool dropped from Geralt’s open mouth. The witcher reached down and scratched his own crotch then snorted out a snore. Jaskier shook his head. The mighty witcher.

But as soon as Jaskier threw off the blanket, the mighty witcher did show himself. Geralt sprung up into a crouching position, muscles coiled like a panther and his sword hilt in his hand. 

“Whoa big fella you don’t need that.” said Jaskier softly. It was good news that Geralt was alive and well enough to overreact to his well-honed senses. It was bad news that Geralt was wearing an outfit that drove Jaskier crazy.Well, they all did. But he did have special affection for the tight leather jacket with the buckles that Yennefer had fit so snugly to Geralt when she conjured it. He did have her to thank for that.

Geralt’s face registered that he was not under attack and that Jaskier was sitting in front of him whole and healthy, if still a little worse for wear. The Witcher’s face shaped into joy that reminded Jaskier of the golden retriever at his father’s house.The witcher moved as though he was going to tackle Jaskier, (or indeed, lick him in the face like an overgrown wolf pup) but he stopped himself. Jaskier saw the memory of their last two conversations settle on him. Geralt grew somewhat chastened but was still smiling. For a man with ostensibly fewer emotions, he could cycle through an astonishing number of them in an instant.

“You’re ok.” Geralt said.

“Well,” said Jaskier. “Glad to hear you give a monkey’s about it.” Jaskier wanted to be cooler. More distant. But he couldn’t help smiling. Geralt was alive. Geralt was happy that Jaskier was alive.

Geralt’s eyes softened. “I do.”

“And you’re ok too.”

“Thanks to you,” said Geralt.

Jaskier needed to put a few more feet between him and Geralt, because he didn’t trust himself not to melt into a puddle when he looked at him like that. Actually, he didn’t know that Geralt had _ever_ looked at him like that.Raw. Unmoored. Jaskier got up and began stretching. “What happened? The last thing I remember is…”

“Casting a spell that could’ve killed you?” said Geralt. He said it reproachfully but was still looking at Jaskier like the bard had just hung the stars in the firmament.

“Well. Yes,” said Jaskier. “But it worked?”

Geralt nodded. “A member of the king’s guard vomited his still beating heart onto me.” 

Jaskier squeezed his fist and mouthed a ‘Yesss’. 

Geralt shook his head and chuckled. God he looked gorgeous when he laughed. The urge Jaskier felt to make him smile more was so visceral it hurt.

Jaskier tore his eyes away and looked around the clearing. He saw streaks of blood but no corpses. “I distinctly remember there being some body parts lying around here.”

“I dragged them away and threw them in a ravine.” said Geralt. “I know you hate seeing corpses.”

Jaskier laughed. “No one likes seeing corpses.” He knew that Geralt dragging away corpses was the equivalent of another man making him pancakes for breakfast or leaving a daisy on his pillow. Jaskier laughed again to himself. 

“What?” asked Geralt. Did Geralt flush? And…scuff his foot on the ground? Surely not.

“Nothing. I’m glad the corpses are gone, wolf,” said the bard.

Geralt beamed. Jaskier heard a soft whinny.

“Roach!” he said, and walked over to the mare. Geralt followed dutifully. When Jaskier reached Roach, he pet and nuzzled him. Roach nuzzled him back and puffed out another smaller whinny.Geralt looked on proudly.

“What happened to your mane, girl?”

Geralt stepped forward. “I’ve been keeping her well groomed.” He sounded like he was being quizzed by the teacher. 

“Pretty girls like Roach need more than grooming.” said Jaskier, smiling at Roach. “Where did your braids go, girl?” He gathered up the mare’s mane and began plaiting it. Roach head butted him gently. Jaskier laughed and his nimble hands had several braids formed and secured within seconds.He walked to the nearest wildflower bush and picked a few blossoms while Geralt looked on. He placed them in Roach’s new braids.

“Ta-da,” said Jaskier contentedly. He turned to look at Geralt, who seemed like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He tried to slip them into pockets that didn’t exist. He folded his arms and then dropped them. He finally spoke.

“When I found you, I thought you were going to die. But Tissaia appeared through a portal and cured you.”

“I knew it. I knew she was a terrifying witch with a soft marshmallow center.”

“Hmmmmm, I wouldn’t go that far.” Said Geralt. “She was seeking her stolen belongings.”

“Ah right. Do you think she’s going to turn me into a minnow?” asked Jaskier.

Geralt slowly shook his head in wonderment. “Why do you always think mages are going to turn you into aquatic animals?” 

“Don’t they?” Asked Jaskier tilting his head a bit and putting his hand on his hip. It was his thinking pose.

“You had some weird bedtime stories growing up,” said Geralt.

“That’s fair,” conceded Jaskier.

Geralt drew closer still. He shifted on his weight. It was starting to feel unbearably awkward when Geralt blurted out in his husky voice.

“You kissed me.” They stared at each other a moment longer then Geralt looked at the ground. Jaskier had the powerful urge to kiss him again to deliver the man from his discomfort. Then he remembered what had happened the last time they spoke when he had given Geralt ample opportunity to say he loved him. Geralt’s silence had been clear. _Careful with your heart, Jaskier,_ he told himself. 

“Well,” said Jaskier primly, “I thought I was dying.”

Geralt looked uncertain of what to do next. “There was no reason that spell should’ve worked.”

“What, like magic’s hard?” said Jaskier, with a studied airiness to him.

Geralt reached out to touch Jaskier. He laid his hand on one side of the bard’s face and lightly touched underneath his eyes with his thumb. Jaskier forced himself to not close his eyes or sigh.

“These bruises are new. How many times can you get your ass kicked, songbird?” said Geralt.

“One loses track,” said Jaskier. But ‘songbird’ did not escape his notice. In fact it did not escape the notice of his cock which, at the sweet nickname and the sword callused hand on his face, began to respond with interest. “ _Down boy._ ” He thought.

“Did the magic spell do this to you?” asked the witcher.

“No. The king’s guard. I snuck back into the city and the guard wasn’t thrilled about it. I heard you asked to get me back into the festival. I thank you for that. Unfortunately Kazimir isn’t a man of his word.”

At the mention of Kazimir, Geralt’s expression changed and his hand dropped from Jaskier’s face.Jaskier exhaled.

“We need to talk.” Said Geralt. “But. Now is not the time.I have to go back to Dol Blathanna.”

“Why? Surely there are better kingdoms to visit. Ones that do not have scheming homicidal kings who want to kill you.”

“Because when Tissaia was here, she told me what the king plans to do to Chessa.”

“Oh yes, she told me this one too. Blood. Ears. Magical operations. Nasty business. But they failed. They haven’t got your anything. So she’s out of danger, right?”

“No.” Said Geralt. “Tissaia found out more from Kazimir’s mage. If his men failed, and they did, his plan is to experiment on her the way they…”

Geralt paused. Jaskier was used Geralt struggling using his words, so he waited patiently.

“They way they experimented on me.”

Jaskier reached for Geralt’s hands and grasped them.

“He can’t do that.” Jaskier felt alarm flooding him. He didn’t know much about these trials but he knew they killed and he knew they had to be excruciatingly painful. The thought of that precious young girl being tortured in that way…the thought of precious young Geralt having been tortured that way.By the gods, people were evil.This could not stand.

“He won’t.” Said Geralt. “Because I won’t let him. So I’m going back to Dol Blathanna. You go back to Posada and recover.”

Jaskier let go of Geralt’s hands. He waved his arms wide. “Are you perhaps short of a marble? I’m going. End of discussion. Kazimir is not going to touch a hair on that precious girl’s head. Or yours. Which, by the way, is in desperate need of washing and braiding.Honestly what do you get up to without me?” 

The witcher did not allow himself to be distracted. “You almost dropped dead not a full day ago.You need to rest somewhere safe. I can’t do this while I’m worrying about you.”

“Oh. Ok. So you do want to be rid of me after all,” said Jaskier. “I am a burden on your very existence.” Geralt flinched.The bard knew that wasn’t what Geralt meant. But he also knew it would get him what he wanted the quickest. And since Geralt hadn’t actually apologized yet, he didn’t feel too terribly about it.

“Jaskier.” Said Geralt.

Jaskier waited.

“Jaskier.” Geralt tried again.

“I spoke in anger. I didn’t mean any of it I swear. I was wrong. I am sorry.”

These were the words Jaskier had been wanting to hear for weeks. But he couldn’t quite believe they had been uttered aloud by Geralt of Rivia.“You’re sorry? You. Are sorry? Who are you and what have you done with Geralt?”

“I’ve had some time to think while having bruxa nightmares.”

Jaskier hadn’t meant to actually upset him.“I’m sorry.”

“No. I didn’t mean it like that. Fuck. I’m so bad at this.”

Jaskier felt his heart was going to jump out of his chest.He hated to see Geralt struggle. The bard always felt caught between wanting to make him chicken soup and wrap a blanket around him, and wanting to rip all his clothes off and wrap his lips around his cock. It could be disconcerting. 

Geralt continued. “The bruxa showed me things. Showed me you. Reminded me of things. But I killed you. Twice.And then I woke up and you were actually almost dead.” Geralt inhaled quickly and stopped speaking.

“It sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” said Jaskier gently.

There was silence. Only the sounds of the rustling leaves and birds filled the air for a moment. Geralt rubbed his face.

“Jaskier, we need to talk about this. I want to talk about this. Just not now.”

Jaskier nodded. “We need to go make sure that fucker doesn’t hurt his daughter.”

“Yes.” Said Geralt.

“Let’s go get the princess.” Jaskier said. “I would never abandon a fan in distress.”

Geralt pretended he hadn’t heard that last part. “Fine. But stay close to me.”

“That will not be a problem.”

“But I couldn’t find the horse you came in on. It must have run away with the guard’s horses.”

“I’ll walk like usual,” said Jaskier.

“We have to go faster. We’ll have to both ride on Roach.”

Geralt rarely let him ride Roach because two grown men is a tough burden to carry.But this was urgent and the city wasn’t that far.

But, on the other hand, being squeezed up against Geralt and trying not to become a horny mess would not make an easy trip.Why did Geralt have to look at him like that? Why did he have to call him songbird? This was going to be torture for him. Well. He could at least make sure it’d be torture for Geralt too.

Jaskier walked over to Roach and pet her. He looked back at Geralt through his eyelashes. “Do you want me in the back? Or in the front?” Jaskier smiled the most fake ass-innocent smile he could. Geralt visibly swallowed. Yes. He was definitely going to exploit whatever this open affection from Geralt was.

Geralt stammered.

“Wh-wh. Wherever you want.”

“So you are saying you’re flexible. You’re open to either,” said Jaskier, looking as directly into Geralt’s eyes as he could with the most shameless expression he had.

“Hmmmmm.” (*fuck)

Jaskier decided to take a little pity on him.“I’ll take the front this time. But don’t think I can’t drive when I want to. You have no idea, witcher.”


	13. That Unwanted Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \----content warning----- Geralt had PTSD about the trials in this chapter (as mentioned in the tags). The trials kill most children, so this is a very intense chapter. It features violence and emotional pain. It ends with comfort and love for Geralt, but it is intense nonetheless.
> 
> Geralt and Jaskier ride into Dol Blathanna together to confront Kazimir and rescue the princess. Geralt gets much more than he bargained for when he sees Stregobor and finds out what is truly behind this scheme. It's a good thing that he has Jaskier by his side.
> 
> ....
> 
> “Look at the child.” said Geralt. “She’s terrified. She doesn’t want this.”
> 
> “Yes, but—“ started Stregobor.
> 
> “And if you so much as breathe the words ‘lesser evil’ I will kill you where you stand like I should have the last time you said that to me.”
> 
> “Well.” Said Stregobor. “It is.”
> 
> “There is no lesser evil with you, mage. Just evil. You say pretty words and pretend you mean them. But you just suck at the cocks of despots and tyrants, hoping some of their power and riches dribble onto your chin.”
> 
> Geralt heard Jaskier whisper behind him “Dear gods and he says he isn’t a poet. I’ve got to write that down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider this a content warning for PTSD and more violence.

**Chessa**

Chessa trembled because that is all her body could do. She was strapped down to a table in a cramped stone room under the castle. She had believed this moment wouldn’t come. That she could stop it. Evade it. She was strong now, almost a woman.

But when her father had arrived to her room, he had brought with him a mage she had never met. An older man with a beard, wearing traveling robes. And the mage had her beloved Katarina with him at knife point. Chessa had complied of course. Katarina had been sobbing and screaming, which was somewhat out of character but then Chessa had never seen Katarina with a knife to her throat. But when they had arrived in this tiny room and Chessa had agreed to be strapped to this cold table, Katarina had disintegrated. It was an illusion the entire time, created by the mage. The relief Chessa felt at Katarina’s safety outweighed the horror of having fallen into her father’s trap.

The princess tested the restraints and her eyes darted around the room looking for anything she could use to escape. There were shelves covering the wall and they were covered in bottles, decanters, trays, and tools that looked sharp. The mage had spread out a cloth and arrayed yet more tools and more bottles on it. He was bent over the cloth working busily on filling several glass syringes. She wondered if she had relieved herself right there on the table. She was frightened enough.

Her father stood over her. “Child. Look at me. Stop the dramatics, your governess is just fine. She’s enjoying the festival as we speak.”

Chessa tried to talk but she was going to cry so she didn’t.

“Princess, you must understand that your father knows what is best for you. I assure you that you will thank me later for this. ”

Chessa strained against the straps.

“What is this horrible man going to do to me?” She managed to push out.

The mage drew closer and pulled down his hood.

“My name is Stregobor dear. And if your father’s mage had been more agreeable, she would be here instead and you would have someone you know helping you.”

The king huffed. “Malitza. I know her loyalties are scattered. In fact, Stregobor has promised me a much more...flexible mage once we get through this unpleasantness.”

Stregobor nodded.

“Most definitely, your majesty. We have so many young girls eager to sit at the right hand of a king such as yourself.”

Tears began to run down Chessa’s face. “If Malitza won’t do this, that’s because she thinks it will hurt me. Please don’t. I don’t want this.”

“Calm down young lady, really. After this is all over, you will be able to hear. You will sound like a normal person when you speak. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Father, I CAN speak. I’m fine, I’m happy the way I am.”

“Teenagers. So unreasonable.” He tutted and looked at Stregobor who gave him an ingratiating smile.

“Indeed.”

“Picture it. The festival is done, and a handsome bard has won. I know you like handsome bards. You will present him with the prize. Then I will gather everyone around for a demonstration. The bard will play for you and you will sing along. People will slowly realize you can hear! There will be tears, applause! How’s that for drama?”

Chessa was sobbing now.

“They will all love you! Then you will be offered the hands of handsome young princes all over the land. And you’ll be rid of your father, isn’t that what you want? Your ugly old father who doesn’t let you chase bards all over the continent?”

Chessa took a breath and quelled her tears. “If this were so safe, why isn’t Katarina here? Why isn’t Malitza here? I’m not stupid, father.”

“Yes it’s a risk. And they are too weak for risk taking. It’s a trait of their gender I’m afraid. But sometimes risks are worth it, and this one surely is.”

“No it isn’t!” Screamed Chessa.

Stregobor and the king looked at one another. Kazimir rolled his eyes and Stregobor chuckled.

“Stregobor,” said Kazimir. “I am taking my leave. I am going to preside over the festival. The people need to see their king. If she makes it through, bring her out. She looks a mess though, have her governess clean her up before you bring her.”

The kings swept away. Stregobor leaned over her.

“Don’t worry child, I’ve been fascinated by these trials for years. I have read all of the second hand literature and have even interviewed witchers in person. You’ll be fine. Just be a good girl while I prepare.”

She struggled. He ignored her and continued.

“I’ll tell you a secret. Your father is an idiot.” He laughed, “well maybe that isn’t a secret at all. The point being, this isn’t going to give you hearing and do nothing else to your body. Who would think anything worked that way? But if it makes you feel better you are providing a service. If this is a success, I can build on it to make more Witchers. Witchers that will actually be useful. They all wander around alone killing random monsters. Who does that benefit? Dirty villagers. Farmers. Nobodies. What if they were made into an army? Aretuza would be invaluable, creating armies to make kingdoms like yours stronger.”

“And you richer.” She said.

“Ah, you’re brighter than you look. But that’s a side effect. This is a service. And if you think about it, the risk you are taking is the lesser evil.”

She closed her eyes and squeezed them to shut him out. She continued to fumble subtly with her hands to find any weakness in the straps. But there was none. She was out of options.

**Geralt**

The witcher was almost relieved to be approaching Dol Blathanna. That meant he could concentrate on breaking into the city rather than agonizing over keeping his straining cock from pressing into Jaskier’s back. Geralt had spent most of his long life smack dab in the middle of life or death situations. So regardless of the urgent matter in front of them, Geralt had his wits about him. The witcher was keenly aware of his arms encircling the bard in order to hold the reins. He was painfully conscious of Jaskier’s body leaning into his. If he didn’t know better, the bard kept purposefully scooting back into him to make matters worse. 

As they grew closer to the gate, Jaskier leaned back until his head was on Geralt’s shoulder. His hair brushed the side of Geralt’s face. Then he turned his head until his mouth was close to Geralt’s ear. Geralt knew the bard was trying to be heard over Roach’s hooves, but the effect was distracting. And if Jaskier’s musky scent was to be believed, he was enjoying himself. Geralt had smelled Jaskier’s interest spike when he had called him a songbird. And now the bard was leaning back on his shoulder. The witcher knew that in that position, Jaskier’s neck was stretched and exposed. Geralt wanted to reach up and wrap his fingers around it softly, stroke it. Kiss it.

“What’s the plan?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmmmm.” (*distracted)

Geralt still didn’t have a plan. Hours riding to the city and still no plan. He wanted to blame Jaskier’s ass against his crotch but that wasn’t fair. Part of the problem was also that Geralt’s enhanced scent ability was flooding his brain with citrus, cinnamon, and mulled wine. Everyone had a distinctive scent to Geralt. Yen smelled of lilac and gooseberries. But Jaskier was the only person he’d met that smelled of wine. Now Geralt understood that he only thought of it as wine since it had a similar effect on his body.

From the day he'd met the sweet feral bard, his scent loosened Geralt’s chest, quickened his loins, and flushed his skin. He had managed to suppress his reaction immediately. Block it out. Ignore it. Rationalize it. It was the ale. The nice weather. But after he pushed Jaskier away last month, the excruciating withdrawals had laid bare the undeniable fact that he was clearly addicted to it. To him. And like an addict, he needed more and more to be satisfied. And today, now that he was beginning to allow himself to savor Jaskier’s scent instead of suppress it, the sensation was overwhelming. The bruxa had been evil but she’d cracked something in him open that had previously been closed. But this receptiveness was also causing Jaskier’s scent to flood him, smothering his ability to think strategically.

“I said what’s the plan?” Repeated Jaskier, still lolling against his shoulder. Fuck.

“How did you get in?” asked Geralt. “Yesterday?” It was a non answer, but maybe they’d get somewhere with it.

“Oh, a disguise. Makeup and a dress.”

Geralt stirred. “Makeup and a dress?” The witcher was relieved that Jaskier did not have enhanced scent abilities.

“Zophia helped me. She’s a performer so she knows makeup. She also lent me stockings. Garters. Heels. I look great in heels. They really bring out my ass.”

Geralt cleared his throat and backed up into the saddle a little further. Did that cheeky little shit just laugh under his breath? Geralt could also do without his enhanced hearing abilities right now.

“Well we have no disguises, And I don’t really want to kill any guards unless it’s in self defense. But if I use spells to get through they’ll just run to tell the king when the magic wears off.”

“You could seduce them?” suggested Jaskier.

“You always say to seduce them,” said Geralt, rolling his eyes.

“It works sometimes! Take that potion that transforms your eyes onyx black and your skin moonstone gray.”

“Are you waxing poetic about the effects of a noxious toxin?” Asked Geralt, trying not to chuckle.

“I mean. Yes?” Answered Jaskier.

“You are the only person on the continent that finds that attractive,” said Geralt.

“That can’t be,” said Jaskier, sounding offended.

“People literally vomit and run,” deadpanned Geralt.

“Bizarre. I’ll never understand it as long as I live.”

Geralt smiled to himself. Jaskier was such a fucking strange and delightful human. 

They approached the large iron gates of Dol Blathanna that were buffeted by stone walls. Compared to the scene the previous day, the entrance was a ghost town. The festival had begun, so the streets inside were empty. Everyone was at the fairgrounds on the other side of the castle. There were only a few guards. Being stationed at the gates during the festival must’ve been reserved for the guards with the least seniority or the least favor. They drew up to the gate. One of the guards stepped out in front of Roach and hailed them with his gloved hand.

Geralt was deciding on force or evasion, when he heard the voice of a woman running towards the gate, her breathing making her words shake.

“Guards, I’ll take it from here. These men are guests of the king.”

It was the woman he’d seen signing to Chessa when he was at court. She was as short and magnificently curvy, with natural brown hair. Her face was an honest one. She seemed flustered.

“Yes ma’am.” Said the guards. They rolled the gates open and Geralt nosed Roach through. Once inside, Geralt and Jaskier both slid off of Roach, who Geralt was sure would be happy to get some hay and water. He handed the reins to a servant the woman had summoned.

“Take this mare to the stables and care for her like she belonged to the king himself.” 

“Hmmmmm.” Geralt hummed. (*I like this one) 

She turned back to them. Jaskier bowed low and kissed her hand.

“And how is your dazzling sorceress, Rina?” asked Jaskier.

“Not well Julian. I’ve been watching the gate hoping you made it back. The king spirited away the princess. Malitza is presiding over the festival, so she can’t look for her. We need help. I don’t even know where he took her. And I don’t know what he’s doing with her.”

Geralt cleared his throat. 

“Oh yes, apologies. Katarina, this is the white wolf, the finest witcher the continent—“

“I’m Geralt.” Said Geralt. “And we came in the hopes we could help. The mage Tissaia told me that the king plans to do at least a modified version of the witcher trial of the grasses on the princess,” said Geralt. 

Katarina covered her mouth with her hands and shook her head. Then her hands slipped and she looked bereft.

“Malitza didn’t tell me that,” she whispered.

“She just didn’t want you to worry darling,” Said Jaskier.

“But no, he can’t do that. I’ll kill him myself if I have to,” she said, suddenly fierce.”

“There’ll be a queue for that I’m afraid,” said Jaskier.

“You don’t need to know where she is exactly, governess. I’ll be able to smell it. Just take me to where they might have rooms medical doctors would use to operate. If you get me within a hundred yards I’ll know.”

“I think it’ll be in one of the rooms beneath the castle. But please, let’s hurry.”

The three ran through the streets until they reached the castle. Katarina again got them in with minimal effort, claiming to be guests of the king. They walked swiftly through the halls so as not to attract attention.

As they walked, Geralt said to Katarina,

“Madam. You know I plan to stop him. Destroy their supply. Do anything it takes to protect the princess and put a stop to this. Anything. I will kill if necessary.”

“I know of course I know,” said Katarina as she bustled quickly beside him. 

“You’ll hang for helping me.”

Katarina was quiet. Only the skirts of her uniform fluttered.

“Her life matters more. I know she isn’t really my daughter—”

“Yes she is.” said Geralt. “She is your daughter if she says she is. There are more important and profound things between humans than similar blood.”

He noticed her eyes were puffy and there were streaks on her cheek. They entered a door that went down stairs. Away from curious onlookers, Katarina broke into a higher speed. The three of them were almost at a run down the stairs.

Katarina called over her shoulder. “These rooms are next to the dungeons. They have been used for torture and experimentation.”

They soon reached the end of the stairs, and Katarina beckoned back to them. “Follow me.” They dashed through the halls. Down here there were no tapestries or imported rugs. No art. No elaborate glass lanterns. Down here it smelled wet and it was cold. And there were so many halls. But it didn’t take much time dashing down them one by one before a scent hit Geralt like a truncheon to the face. He stopped cold.

He never thought he would smell this particular alchemical combination again. In fact, until this exact second, he thought he had forgotten it. Living this long had benefits. Bad memories decayed with time. But this one was simply dormant. Because this scent made him a child again. A child being dumped on a doorstep for a fate that would almost certainly kill him. A child who’s veins were jabbed with needles and who was thrown into fights with creatures he was too little and terrified to properly fight.This was the smell nausea. Of agony. Of small bodies of dead boys stacked together on a cart for disposal. Jaskier’s concerned face appeared in front of him.

“Geralt. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“We’re close.” said Geralt. His eyes glazed over. He could no longer see anything but the scent. It was acrid and hateful. He pushed past Jaskier. Indeed, he soon forgot that a bard and a governess were following him at all. He ran toward the scent. It was cloying. Unmistakable. He arrived in front of a heavy old unstained oak door bolted from the inside and out. The witcher grabbed the rusted handle and yanked the door off the hinges. It flew and smashed against the wall. Jaskier and Katarina jumped out of the way.

Geralt passed the threshold crunching pieces of wood and splinters. A remaining hinge scratched his arm as he passed through but he didn’t notice. He laid his eyes on a familiar face.

“Stregobor,” Geralt growled. “Torturing and cutting up princesses. Some things never change do they?”

Geralt saw the girl was strapped to a table in the small stone mildew smelling room. The table was made of some kind of metal and her straps of leather. She was wearing a nightshirt, and the sleeves of it had been pushed up to reveal her arms. In turn, her arms were wrapped with bands of rubber. Geralt knew what the bands were for. They would make her veins stand out to better pump the alchemical poisons into her bloodstream. In her fearful eyes and in her outstretched pinched arms, he saw the faces of boys he had befriended who had been turned into small corpses. Freckled faces and crooked teeth turned blue and rotting. It reminded him of how he had felt, alone and abandoned by the very people who were supposed to love him most. He could have SWORN he had forgotten what that felt like.

The bearded mage with the shifty eyes was standing over the girl with a syringe. He dropped the syringe in shock and it broke on the stone floor. The cloying scent quickly reached Geralt and coursed through him.

Chessa turned her face. She saw Geralt.

“Geralt help me!” She cried.

Jaskier and Katarina pushed into the room behind him.

“Rina!” called Chessa.

Katarina and Jaskier surged forward to help the princess, but Geralt instinctively threw out his arm to stop them.

“Stay back,” he growled. They did.

“Geralt!” said Stregobor. The man’s expression of fear disappeared. It was replaced by solicitousness and hollow charm.“What a delight to see you, my friend. You know, I planned to tell you all about this, but I wanted to make sure it would work first.”

“Did you now?” said Geralt. 

“Yes of course! I hope it’s a pleasant surprise. We’re only doing one small part of the trials on Chessa but you know it will help her and then we’ll learn enough to start up making witchers again, isn’t that exciting?”

“I won’t let you do this, Stregobor,” said Geralt. “Not again. Never again.” 

“Geralt,” said Stregobor. “Please be reasonable. With more witchers on the continent there willl be fewer monsters to terrorize villagers. Innocent defenseless farmers. Lives will be saved.”

“Look at the child.” said Geralt. “She’s terrified. She doesn’t want this.”

“Yes, but—“ started Stregobor.

“And if you so much as breathe the words ‘lesser evil’ I will kill you where you stand like I should have the last time you said that to me.”

“Well.” Said Stregobor. “It is.”

“There is no lesser evil with you, mage. Just evil. You say pretty words and pretend you mean them. But you just suck at the cocks of despots and tyrants, hoping some of their power and riches dribble onto your chin.”

Geralt heard Jaskier whisper behind him “Dear gods and he says he isn’t a poet. I’ve got to write that down.”

Stregobor’s eyes flashed. “I see there’s no convincing you to see sense.” 

Stregobor begin to raise his hands to start a spell but Geralt was too fast. The witcher made the sign of Aard, and a force field blew forward to knock Stregobor from his feet. Witcher magic hardly compared to the magic of mages or elves. But Stregobor had not been expecting a fight that day. And Geralt had burst into the room ready to fight, with every spell on the tips of his fingers. 

Geralt rushed forward and rounded the table in time to see Stregobor lifting his hands to attempt again to cast a spell. But Geralt already had his sword from its scabbard. He quickly drew a sign in the air to block Stregobor’s magic. Geralt resheathed the sword in a flash and fell to his knees on the stone floor in front of the mage. Before Stregobor could utter a word, Geralt grabbed him by the collar of his robe and drew back and punched him hard square in the face. Stregobor’s head snapped back and hit the stone floor beneath him and was still. 

Geralt smelled and heard Kazimir before he came bursting through the doorway with Tissaia hot on his heels. He slowly stood.

“How dare you witcher!” Kazimir shouted, standing in the doorway, trying to pull Tissaia in front of him. “You mutant! Meddling in the affairs of kings!” Tissaia deliberately pulled her arms away from Kazimir to dislodge his desperate fingers, but she did position herself in front of the king.

While Geralt had been neutralizing Stregobor, Jaskier and Katarina had managed to get Chessa partway out of the straps. But they were now stopped, watching Kazimir warily. 

Geralt surged towards Kazimir, who shrunk back further behind Tissaia who stood still, looking at Geralt with her usual air of lightly irritated detachment.

Geralt barked at Kazimir, “You’re going to tell me where you found these potions. And you are going to tell me where you’re hiding the rest of it.”

Geralt pulled a knife from his belt and advanced on the king. But Tissaia shot her arms out and Geralt felt magic envelope him. His hands fell lifelessly to his sides. The knife fell to the floor.

Geralt had never felt such magical power in his life. He had heard that Tissaia De Vries was powerful but to actually feel it wrap it’s tentacles around his body was an entirely different thing. His body was at her bidding and he knew it. He staggered backwards, though he was not the one who had decided where he would stagger.

Tissaia hissed, “You cannot just kill the king, Geralt. Calm yourself. Oddly, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Let him go!” Geralt heard Jaskier shout. Geralt couldn’t turn his head completely but he could picture Jaskier’s angry face. But Tissaia shot her other hand out in the bard’s direction, and Jaskier’s voice went quiet. Tissaia had, without so much as breaking a sweat, taken a witcher’s free will with one hand and a bard’s with the other.

“Now everyone calm down,” she said with authority and annoyance bleeding from her words.

“That’s right,” said Kazimir. He straightened his coat and took a deep halting breath followed by several more long cleansing ones. “Everyone just calm down.” Now that Kazimir saw that Geralt was paralyzed, he found the courage to step out in front of Tissaia and come close to the witcher’s face. “I expect dramatics from mages and teenage girls. Even bards. But you witcher?”

“Fuck. You.” Geralt spit out. He probably shouldn’t have been able to speak under that spell. He looked at Tissaia, who’s expression was glinting and unreadable.

“Isn’t this how you were made?” said Kazimir. “Your family did this to you. And don’t you love your family? Aren’t you happy with who you are?”

“The trials killed,” Geralt wheezed “almost all of the children.” His windpipe almost closed and he fell silent.

“This is none of your business, mutant. This is my castle, and Chessa is my daughter and I do what I like with her which is my right by nature and by law.”

“Chessa doesn’t want this!” cried Katarina.

Geralt was able to turn his head a fraction. He saw Jaskier frozen against the wall, his eyes wide and panicked. In front of him, Katarina had sheltered Chessa behind her. The governess had both arms thrown wide. Geralt knew that her arms could not shelter Chessa if Tissaia chose to turn her magic on them. Or indeed if the king wanted to go through her. Katarina was unarmed. Untrained. She was a governess. Her fiercest quality was the love she flung. Unfortunately, Kazimir was immune to such weapons.

He turned his head and called out the door.

“Guards!”

In came four guards, the ones they had seen at the city gate.

“You and you, seize the child,” said the king, pointing at the first two. 

“Nooo!!!” Screamed Chessa.

“And strap her back on the table. I don’t care what you have to do. She’s going to learn who the king is.”

As the guards walked past him he remarked “If you learn anything from me it’s to keep a firm hand on the women in your home. I’ve let this go on far too long, and look at the price I’m paying.” 

Two guards took Chessa kicking and screaming to the table.

Then Kazimir pointed to the remaining two guards and nodded at Katarina. 

“And bring her here.”

They brought Katarina forward to face the king.

“I would expect this disloyalty and disrespect from a fucking witcher. A hired thug. But you? I entrusted my daughter to you. I treated you like family.” 

“Since I am still alive, I have yet to be treated like your family,” said Katarina, looking into Kazimir’s eyes with pure venom. Geralt had seen women pushed too far before. He knew what it looked like.

Kazimir laughed. “Oh you think you’re bright, do you? You think you’ll expose me? That’s so sweet.” He slipped his hand to pat Katarina’s face. Then he turned to Chessa.

“My dear. Your governess thinks she’ll turn you against me. But she misunderstands. I do not require your love. I require your respect. And your precious governess, has none. She has ruined your mind and corrupted your loyalties. In fact. It’s far past time for her to die. 

Chessa screamed.

“This is how things work my dear. It’s time you grew up. You defy kings. You die. It’s a simple lesson.”

As Kazimir spoke, Geralt sensed magic coming down the hall outside like a shaking, coiled tide. It was the court mage he could smell her. And Geralt was like mages in that he sensed magic. His medallion vibrated, but he would’ve known anyway. Because as Malitza neared, he felt her the way a human would feel an earthquake ripping apart the foundations of their houses, rattling over bottles, and knocking down shelves. 

It was so odd that the humans didn’t sense her. That they could not taste her. Her rage tasted like bitter root finally blossoming. It felt like a dragon who has stuffed itself into the illusion of a human body breaking free. He knew Tissaia felt her too. But Tissaia didn’t twitch. She held Geralt and Jaskier in their paralytic states and otherwise stayed very still. Geralt heard Malitza appear at the door. His eyes were still turned towards Chessa and Jaskier.

Kazimir had his back to the door, so he didn’t see Malitza. Neither did the guards. So the king just kept talking. “Well child? Do you see why I have to do this?” He now had the knife Geralt had dropped and had the tip of it pressed to Katarina’s breastbone.

The king waited for Chessa to answer him. 

“Well?”

Chessa nodded. But she wasn’t looking at the king. She was looking past him over his shoulder. Kazimir didn’t notice.

The king turned to shove the knife into Katarina’s chest. But it never sunk in. Because the king's head exploded.

The guards froze. But they were not frozen because a mage had put them under a spell. They were frozen because their king’s skull had fractured and his gray brain matter had splattered onto their helmets. Slowly, the rest of his flesh dribbled out of his skin and it collapsed to the floor with a sickening slick. Tissaia dropped her hands. Geralt and Jaskier unfroze. Malitza stood at the door breathing deeply, hands still stretched towards the space where the king had been standing. Everyone turned to look at her. 

The silence in the room was deafening. Geralt’s ears were ringing and the magical spell remnants filled his nostrils with smoke. His eyes drifted across the faces of those gathered. Katarina’s face was frozen in horror. She had blood spackled on her face. Chessa was wretching. Malitza was looking at Katarina and despite it all, seemed relieved. Tissaia’s lips were pursed. It was like they had all witnessed a separate event. But Jaskier was looking at him, as though he were the only person in the room. 

But as the smoke of the magic spells dispersed, Geralt again began to smell the chemicals pungent in his nose. The room in the castle in Dol Blathanna receded. He was alone again. Strapped to a table. Where Chessa was just lying, he saw a little boy. First the boy had his own face. Then the boy had the face of Timothy, who had shared his bread with Geralt but who had disappeared after a week and no one had ever mentioned him again. Then it was Geralt again and he was screaming for his mother, throat raw. Geralt knew that she would never come. Then the boy became so desperate that he screamed for his father. And Geralt knew that his father was as real as smoke. He saw red. He heard scratching.

He reached for the operating table. He wrenched it from the ground. The bolts and metal screeched and detached.

He heard Jaskier voice like a whisper in the distance commanding urgently,

“Everyone. Out. NOW. MOVE.”

He threw the table at the cabinet. It shattered. Everything shattered. The smells, now released from their bottles grew more intense. He had to stop them. He had to destroy them. He drew the sign of Igni and threw a fireball at one of the shelf lined walls. He knew the flames were doing their work. But there had to be more. He turned. He cast Igni again. He smelled the furniture catching fire. But he couldn't stop until the smell was gone. Until the scratching was gone. He picked up a chair and smashed it against another cabinet and heard it shatter.

Suddenly behind him he felt a magic spell brewing. He smelled Stregobor. The man was up again. He whirled around and saw Stregobor begin to mutter an enchantment. Geralt moved fast like a cat and raised one broken chair leg and brought it down on the man’s skull. Once. The mage crumpled. Twice. Three times. Four times. Five. The pungent smell of a second brain opening in a matter of moments still didn’t snap him out of his haze. It still didn’t cover the smell of death and decay and terrified abandoned children.

He looked around desperately for something else to destroy. He felt like a wild animal.

But then another smell started to flood in. Something was drawing closer. Mulled wine and citrus. Cinnamon. He felt hands close around his wrists. He heard a song. It was another verse of the song from his dream.

_All the pins inside your fretted head_

_And your muttered whens and hows_

_All your mother's weaves and your father's threads_

_Let me rob them of you now_

_Cos I'll darn you back together_

_When you think that you're bereft_

_And you'll wail, you'll scream, but I'll never stop_

_Cos it's all that I have left_

_I wake and hear you calling_

_And up those cliffs I climb_

_And I find you with a thimble weeping_

_May I, I ask, may I?_

_And you gently gift it to me_

_Cos you've no clue how to sew_

_And I know the kindest thing_

_I pray to god it's the kindest thing_

_I know the kindest thing_

_Is to never leave you alone_

The broken bloody splinters of the chair clattered from his hands. He opened his eyes. He didn’t know he’d closed them.

“Geralt. Dearheart. Come back to me.”

The red drained from his eyes. In front of him. So close he could feel the warmth, were eyes flooded with concern and love. 

“Jaskier,” he said. It came out dry and burnt and hollow. “Can’t you hear the scratching?” 

“Love. Please. Come back.”

“I’m back,” but he could only manage a whisper.

Jaskier wrapped him in the tightest hug. At first Geralt’s arms hung slack but then slowly he raised them. Wrapped them around the bard. Allowed himself to inhale the soothing scent of him. Each breath brought him more securely into his body. His feet more firmly planted to the ground. Slowly, Jaskier released him. Geralt still held onto his arms. Jaskier reached up and wiped something wet off of Geralt’s face.

“You’re still here.” Geralt breathed.

“I’m still here love like I’ve always been before,” said Jaskier.

“I am a fool.”

“Nonsense. You’re just a little underrehearsed.”

Geralt smiled and released a shaky breath, still gripping Jaskier’s arms.

“Geralt. I can’t know what you are feeling. But I do know that you are a miracle. Your humanity. It was unkillable. Just like you. Do you not see that?”

Geralt looked from those lovely earnest eyes and surveyed the room. Nothing was flammable but the furniture, and those flames were pitiful stutters. Well. At least he hadn’t burned the castle down. Bottles were destroyed and flames flickered smaller. Then he looked down and saw Stregobor. What was left of Stregobor.

“I think you might be overselling the matter,” said Geralt. “I think the dead man at my feet would disagree.”

“Oh like I give a fuck about him,” said Jaskier and kicked Stregobor’s corpse in the leg.

“Jesus fucking Christ, bard,” said Tissaia. Jaskier jumped. Neither of them had noticed her return. She sighed and lifted her hands. She muttered a spell and a portal whirled around the body of Stregobor. It disappeared.

“I’ve sent him somewhere secure.” She waved a guard over and gestured at the noxious puddle that used to be Kazimir. “You. Clean that mess up.”

The guard looked dazed. But he followed his orders.

Now. Bard, the princess needs you, go.”

“I have to stay with..”

“Go.” said Geralt. 

Jaskier opened his mouth.

“Thank you.” Said Geralt and reached for Jaskier’s hand and squeezed it. “Go.”

“Jaskier,” said Tissaia. “This kind of moment sparks wars that last generations. We have a dead monarch and a child queen who needs your help or we’ll have blood in the streets. Believe it or not, this is a moment for bards and their songs that tell people they don’t need to be afraid. That convince them that this child Queen is strong enough to defend herself.”

Jaskier looked at Geralt who nodded. 

“I’m fine.”

“Your witcher is fine for fucks sake move it now.”

“Ok right yes. Yes.” Said Jaskier and left quickly.

Tissaia looked at Geralt. She drew in a long breath and exhaled. She actually had one tendril out of place. She shook her head slowly.

“You need a fucking nap, witcher.” She said.

  
  



	14. What About the Lute?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The festival is here. But the king is dead and there are pieces to pick up, both literally and figuratively. 
> 
> Jaskier performs at the show and receives an unexpected gift.
> 
> (Y'all. This is shameless tooth rotting fluff. Next chapter, smutsville)
> 
> ......
> 
> Today, a music festival was taking place in the arena. It had been created and promoted to burnish the reputation of a king who’s head was now in basket.
> 
> But as they say, the show must go on.
> 
> And no one lived by that principle more than Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, bard extraordinaire, and man of the hour. Or more precisely, of the moment. And Jaskier was always ready for his moment. The only thing he was missing was a lute.

**Jaskier**

The arena used for festival grounds in Dol Blathanna had seen many things.Circuses with boys who could eat fire and girls who could tame lions. Bawdy comedies performed by actors drunk on the spotlight. And ugly things. Public executions. Gladiator fights that were little more than public executions with better entertainment value. The dirt had been worn down packed and shiny, and the sun bleached wood stands had held up under rain and sleet and sun.

But the world had turned. Times had changed. 

Today, a music festival was taking place in the arena. It had been created and promoted to burnish the reputation of a king who’s head was now in basket. 

But as they say, the show must go on. 

And no one lived by that principle more than Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, bard extraordinaire, and man of the hour. Or more precisely, of the moment.  


And Jaskier was always ready for his moment.  The only thing he was missing was a lute.

Jaskier brushed the last bit of lint from his gold costume.He glimmered as he leapt up the stairs backstage and wedged himself between the crack in the heavy musty curtains. He passed from the night, filled with the murmur of waiting fans, to a hot bustling corner of the world where singers and musicians were doing any number of desperate tasks to be ready for a call time that was always too soon. Backstage was like the back of a cross stitch.Nothing but mixed up knots curled in incomprehensible patterns. But it all worked out as long as the audience only saw the strings on the front woven into a dainty rose.

Jaskier looked frantically for the familiar faces he sought.He spotted them near the far wall. A vivacious woman, a quiet thin man, and a burly rough looking fellow.Jaskier headed for them, dodging costumers and prop masters bustling by with their work.

“Zophia!” he called, raising his hands and waving. Thankfully he was taller than most, so they saw him immediately. Zophia laughed and shrieked. “Filip! Boris!” All three of the performers ran to Jaskier. Zophia reached him first, and threw her arms around him.

“I thought they’d locked you up!” Said Zophia, and buried her face in his shoulder.

Filip bumped into them and threw his arms around the two of them.

“I was afraid they were torturing you!” Said Filip, and squeezed him tight.

Then Boris ran into them, wrapping his thick arms around the three of them.

“I thought you were dead for sure!” He said.

Jaskier yelped happily. “I’m fine I’m fine! But I am glad to hear I was missed. You’re like a pile of bard puppies.” It was good to have friends. Especially after the few days he’d had. 

They slowly let go of him. Zophia straightened his doublet and checked him over.

“You’re a little banged up but you seem standing,” was her clear eyed assessment.

“I’m fine. I mean not fine emotionally I’ve just seen a man’s head explode? But otherwise…” said Jaskier.

“Oh gods, what happened?” Asked Filip.

“I’ll tell you all about it later. Where it’s quiet and you can hear me and I can be sloshed. Right now I need to get the band back together.”

“We’re with you” said Boris.

“What’s going on?” Asked Zophia.

“Well. You know Princess Chessa? She’s queen now. Don’t ask.Please don’t ask.But she’s asked me to sing some songs so I have to jump onstage. I’ve just scribbled down the music so you’ll have to pick it up fast and follow my lead. Will you join me?”

Zophia grabbed her lute and hoisted it aloft.

“You have my lute.”

Boris clashed his cymbals.

“And my cymbals”

Filip flourished with his hands and took up his violin.

“And my violin.”

Jaskier took out the hastily scribbled musical notes and lyrics he had composed on the walk over here. 

“Ok. Here’s how it’s going to go.”

**Chessa**

Chessa huddled offstage with Katarina and Malitza. They stood close with heads bowed in the middle towards one another like a lean-to in the rain. Chessa was still a raw bundle of shock and adrenaline.

“Breathe for me princess. You can do this,” signed Katarina.

“No, love.” Malitza signed to Katarina. “ _Queen_ Chessa. We must adapt quickly.”

Chessa wrung her hands. When Malitza said _Queen_ , she felt cold panic. She was not the queen.She was the princess. She didn’t preside over court and send people to battle. She did calligraphy and goofed off with Antoni.That girl was so far away now though.It had only been a few days but it felt like an eternity. Her father. Gods. Her father was really dead.That godlike fact of life.That force of nature she had cowered from. Gone. What would people say?

She looked to Malitza because the mage seemed almost entirely unruffled.How old was she again? She must’ve been through a lot to be so entirely self contained in this moment.

“What about when they find out my father is dead? What if they blame me?” She asked.

“You are in the line of succession,” signed Malitza.“This is not a coup. It is more of an…early retirement. And who can really know what befell the king in that tiny cell under the castle?” At that, Malitza gracefully lifted one eyebrow.

Katarina stepped directly in front of Chessa, catching her eyes. “You will rise to this occasion. You will be a strong and just queen. You have spirit. I’ve seen it and soon will everyone else.”

“Thanks mum,” she signed and squeezed Katarina’s hand.She always felt stronger after one of Rina’s talks.

Jaskier wiggled into their huddle between her and Katarina. He looked so confident and sure of himself. Was she the only one afraid right now? 

He jumped right in. “She’s right, love. Just recently you stormed down into your fathers dungeons to rescue a bedraggled bard against the better judgment of everyone else around you. That is the spirit we need right now.”

Chessa impulsively hugged him. He squeezed her tight then drew back again to sign.

“You’re my hero. You rescued me and because of that Geralt is alive today.”

He had a point. She _had_ been brave.That day in the dungeons, she had doubted herself. She had been afraid but she’d done it anyway. Maybe we’re all just afraid but we do it anyway.

Then Malitza joined in. “Mistress Tissaia is going to handle the mages council. I am meeting with the lords and merchants. ”

Then Jaskier added. “All  you have to do at this moment is to go on stage. It's just like being in court and you’re used to that.And all you have to do onstage, is introduce your very favorite bard in the whole wide world along with his merry band. That’s all.One moment at a time.”

“And what if they hate me?” That was her real question, so she just came out with it.

“Darling,” signed Jaskier, ‘You are in Jaskier’s capable hands. When I’m through with these people, they will all want to kill the king themselves. They’ll be furious that someone else got to it first.And you, my dear. They’ll count their lucky stars to have such a gracious ruler. They will be eating from the palm of my hand and no mistake. It is what I do.”

She felt steadied. She wasn’t alone. And she could do this. She had to do this.She felt Katarina take her hand.

“Let’s go.”

**Jaskier**

Jaskier stood offstage with Zophia, Filip, and Malitza.They watched Chessa and Katarina walk onto the stage, blinking in the lantern and torch lights, both growing more confident, with each step. Chessa arrived gracefully to the center of the stage, waved and bowed. Katarina stood beside her.Chessa began to sign, and Katarina spoke in a loud and clear voice.

“Thank you all for joining me here tonight.I am honored that you are here to share this glorious moment with me in beautiful Dol Blathanna, the land that birthed me, standing beside the good people who nurtured me from an infant into the woman I am today.”

There was applause.

“Oh yeahhhh.” Said Jaskier. “She’s going to be just fine.” 

Malitza nodded. “She’s a natural.”

“Now please welcome someone I personally invited. His music has kept me company in cold and lonely times.It has given me strength and courage.Please welcome—” Then Chessa and Katarina called out loud together, “JASKIER.”

Jaskier felt himself turn on like a light as he stepped onto the stage with his friends. He was using Zophia’s lute. She had switched to guitar, Filip was on violin, and Boris the cymbals.

He bowed gallantly and deeply before the queen.

“Your majesty. That you would honor a humble bard with such a privilege is the pride of my life.”

Chessa nodded gracefully, smiled with genuine excitement, and stepped off stage with Katarina.

Jaskier took a moment to inhale the crowd. Yes, there was the smell of beer and sweat. But also the crackling energy of a crowd ready to be entertained. He inhaled again and called out with his customary drama and flair. 

"It is a pleasure to be with you tonight, Dol Blathanna. Posada, I know you have traveled here tonight as well. Posada has provided me with many good glasses of beer, a few delicious meals, some mediocre conversations, and one grumpy witcher."

There was laughter.

"And now!  For our first song, please allow me to sing a song praising the luminous Chessa. Other kingdoms have petulant and pretentious princesses. We are most fortunate of all the kingdoms that we are smiled upon by her her wisdom, her grace, and her beauty.”

He glanced over and saw Chessa practically glowing offstage. 

And it is called Sweetest Flower in the Valley.

Jaskier began to strum, and his three friends joined in quickly.They could bluff through anything together, so that was lucky. Their instruments spoke to one another, and Zophia entwined her voice with his on cue. Jaskier sang about a queen who gave peasants land and doled out justice and was fair and kind and beautiful.

And he owned the stage. If there was one thing he felt he could do, besides provide the best orgasms known to man or woman, it was to perform. He consumed the energy of the crowd and it made him more powerful. 

However, despite being immersed in the music and crowd, he couldn’t help scanning the crowd for Geralt’s face and hoping to see him there. Geralt had gone to root out any remaining detritus of Stregobor’s calamity. Jaskier knew that was important. But he worried. The last time he’d seen Geralt, the witcher’s eyes had been wild. Wounded.Grief stricken. Jaskier knew how to anchor him and was glad he’d been there to do so. But he yearned to put eyes on Geralt and satisfy himself that the witcher was ok. He longed to see the man’s handsome, angular, exasperated face. He wouldn’t be entirely at peace until he knew that Geralt had found a measure of it too.

Jaskier and his friends finished the song to raucous applause.

**Geralt** ****

There wasn’t much that scared Geralt. Not giants. Not dragons. Not drowners. He was so burned out on adrenaline from being in constant peril, that it no longer held much sway over him.

But this had him in a cold sweat. There was no way he was going a step closer.

“All you have to do is go out onstage for mere seconds, and hand it to him,” said Malitza. “Then you can slink away to whatever back alley you prefer.”

“I do not climb onto stages. I sit in corners. I brought it to you and that is enough.”

“Do it or I’ll turn you into a trout,” she hissed in a stage whisper.

“Jaskier was right about witches. Fuck.” Said Geralt. 

His arms were crossed. He had no intention of moving from this spot. Being offstage was as close as he was ever going to get to the limelight.

“Jaskier.” She said, seizing on the name. “Yes, do it for Jaskier. He has risked his life for you, stared down Tissaia de Vries for you, and he just talked you down from a frenzy the likes of which I’ve never seen.”

“He’ll be just as happy if I give it to him later.” Said Geralt. “He doesn’t need dramatics.”

“Witcher. I don’t know who you are talking about but I was discussing the bard.”

He turned to leave.

“Think of Chessa.”

He turned back. “You and Katarina have Chessa well supported now.Now is the time for politicians. Not witchers. I did my part.”

“You saved her life.Now you’re going to throw her to the wolves? She fails and it’ll be chaos in Dol Blathanna. Bloodshed. People will call for her head.”

“I don’t see what I have to do with this. I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

“Not everything.”

“Most everything.”

“Witcher, every part of the tale we are spinning is necessary. Kazimir is evil because he turned on you, a noble man whose only thought was for the bard.”

Geralt snorted derisively. “ _What_ kind of man??” 

Malitza ignored him. She kept going. “And Chessa is a kind queen because she is honoring a promise that her double crossing father made. The tale we spin to the people is more powerful than any sword. But we have to spin it well. The mages and merchants will support her but only if the people do. She can’t even whiff of weakness. And if you care about her, you have your part to play.”

He sighed.

“Oh stop moaning.Now, look at your bard.” 

Geralt hadn’t yet looked. At the mage’s insistence, he step forward and peered at the stage. 

There is something about seeing the person you love in their element. In private, they show you their insecurities, their soft undersides, the parts of them that grate or shake loose. You forget their power.Their utter transcendence. It strikes awe. And Jaskier was transcendent. He was prowling the stage with this friends. His clear sweet voice ringing out, painting the tale of a strong and fair queen.Wrapping the audience around his little finger.Gods. He was a fucking force.

And wasn’t it just two days ago that Jaskier had said Geralt was embarrassed of him? Imagine. Jaskier thought Geralt was embarrassed of him. That he pushed him away in the daylight, only clinging to him in the dark of night. Because Jaskier was a shameful thing. The very thought cut deep and sharp. 

Geralt grumbled.

Malitza recognized it for the assent it was and placed Filivandrel’s repaired lute in Geralt’s hands.

**Jaskier**

Jaskier and his friends finished the song to wild applause, whoops, and howls.They bowed low.But before he could announce his next song, Queen Chessa came back out onto the stage with Katarina.

Jaskier stood aside. He wasn’t sure what she had to say. He had thought they were going directly into the next song. So he stood silently and watched, along with everyone else.

Chessa began to sign and Katarina to speak.

“Two days ago, Dol Blathanna had a bruxa in our woods. Yes. A bruxa. The ferocious vampires that feeds on children at night.”

A gasp rose from the crowd.

Chessa continued. The next phrase she signed and spoke out. “So, Geralt of Rivia, the renowned witcher, came to my father’s court.”

Jaskier’s felt a surge of pride. That was _his_ witcher. _His_ renowned witcher. 

“He came to help us!” Chessa infused her voice with a sense of drama and danger. It sounded like the audience was holding their breaths.Queen Chessa had a future in theater if this whole royal thing didn’t work out for her.

“And he slew the bruxa!!” She shouted.

The crowd cheered. 

Chessa and Katarina had the dynamic of two thespians who’d performed on the road for ages together. They seemed to know each other’s pauses and sentences as a second nature. 

Chessa continued in sign and Katarina spoke. “And can you guess what he wanted?” 

She paused for effect.A man yelled out.

“Coin?” 

The crowd murmured in agreement. Coin.

“No.” She said. Another dramatic pause. “No coin. The only thing he wanted was for his bard…Jaskier..”

At that she swept her hands towards Jaskier like she was unveiling a painting. He thought quickly and tipped his head. 

“To be included in the festival.”

Sighs issued from some of the women in the crowd.

“And now he has been. I kept our promise. But the witcher had one more request.”

There was silence. Rapt attention.

“A lute. Yes, you heard that right. A lute. You see, his bard had carried with him a legendary lute, a gift from an elven king Filivandrel.”

Gasps.

“But a lout at a bar broke it. And the witcher was so heartbroken for his bard, that he was wiling to walk into the maw of a bruxa.For him.” She pointed at Jaskier.

Then she pointed at the crowd. Speaking now, she said.

“For you. And he slew her.”

A cheer went up. But Chessa was just warming up.

“Slew her and cut her open.” She made a slashing motion to punctuate the point.

More cheers.

“She won’t be coming for your children at night anymore.”

A woman wept in the crowd.

“True to my word, we got our best artisans to work. And now his bard’s lute is as good as new.” 

Jaskier stared at her. He didn’t know this part. He actually hadn’t known any of this was going to happen, but he definitely didn’t know that they’d had his lute repaired.Could it be true?

“And you all are here tonight to witness. This bard, being gifted that lute. By his witcher.Right now.”

Murmurs and cries. Girls squealed and clapped.

Jaskier looked around in shock. He felt Zophia take her lute out of his hands. 

Then, Geralt of Rivia emerged from offstage and was walking towards him with a lute. Geralt wore his black buckled leather jacket still and the his boots that looked like they could cave in the skull of a basilisk. He had both swords returned to their places on his back. He still had scorch marks on his hands, and blood spattered on his body. But he held the lute delicately in his hands like it was made of the finest crystal.And he looked more terrified than Jaskier had ever seen him look. Geralt kept his eyes trained intensely on Jaskier, as if the crowd could turn him to lava if he looked out at them. Gods it was adorable. Then Geralt was in front of him, holding the lute out.

He knew the crowd was cheering. But he could only see golden eyes, crinkling at the sides. Jaskier looked at him and saw that Geralt was ok. He was going to be ok. Jaskier looked down at the lute. It was immaculate. 

Then Geralt did something that Jaskier could have never predicted he’d do. You think you know people. You love them half your life. But then they go and surprise you.

Geralt leaned in and whispered, “I love you, songbird." Then Geralt kissed him. It was light but it was sweet.

It was all Jaskier had ever wanted.

”And I love you, dearheart.”

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Geralt pulled back and Jaskier saw the realization on his face. The moment when Geralt realized so many people were screaming for him.He looked skittish again and turned to leave. But while he made a mad dash off the stage, Jaskier shouted to the crowd at the top of his voice.

“You may as well know what he said! I’m the love of his life! That’s right you heard it here folks. The mighty witcher, the white wolf, can’t get enough of Jaskier. He loves me. He said it.”

Now there were whoops and laughs. Geralt had made it offstage and looked like he was going to melt with mortification and love.

“Now.” Said Jaskier.“Before I take my witcher to the royal suites and introduce him and his lovely bottom to my legendary love making skills (yes you’ve heard the rumors and they’re all true my good people), please gather round for the story of the double crossing weasel fucker with a comb over who tried to murder the noble witcher.”

Boooooooo cried the crowd.

"It's Called Fuck that Fuckweasel."

The second song was actually just supposed to be about Kazimir, but 90% of it was about Geralt and his tight pants. Old habits die hard.

When he got to a particularly salacious lyric about Geralt’s equally mighty package, he glanced offstage and found Geralt watching him. Jaskier winked. Geralt looked at him deadpanned and shook his head.But Geralt liked it. Jaskier knew he liked it. 


	15. Wild Blue Yonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the festival over, Geralt wants to show Jaskier he's ready to love him completely. Jaskier decides to test that out. Naked. 
> 
> This chapter contains a heap of blatant smut, with a sweet epilogue. So if you don't like to read explicit sex, chapter 14 then skipping to the epilogue could just end the story for you. But if you do, please read on!

**Geralt**

Geralt felt as though he had been misplaced by the gods in this decadent room. 

There were soft tufted rugs, a painted stone fireplace, and a massive four poster bed with downy looking blankets and piles of pillows. The curtains were threaded with gold and draped lavishly across the windows.The tapestries on the walls depicted beautiful men and women lounging by a lake and feeding one another grapes.

He’d had lifetime of sleeping on the cold ground, ready to snap awake at any moment.If it was raining, he might have a tent or cave. And when work was good and the coin flowing, a shabby room at an old inn. His body was sword scarred and combat hardened. It didn’t belong on silk sheets.

Beyond not fitting in, he generally found that all of this finery came with a price. And that price was usually mountains of pretty words shoveled over bullshit. 

Jaskier acted as his buffer in places like this.Jaskier had grown up in a lord’s home. He’d attended royal dinners as a youth and learned which fork to use and which countess was likely to poison your wine.He’d studied at Oxenfurt and could converse about theater and art.Whenever they had to go to a party fancier than Geralt could stomach, he followed Jaskier’ lead. They made a good team. He protected Jaskier from vengeful cuckolds. Jaskier protected him from vapid conversations. 

So even though Geralt was alone in the room, he felt Jaskier’s absence.

Queen Chessa had called Jaskier and his assortment of bard friends to her chambers after the festival. Geralt had been left in this room. 

He tried to keep himself busy. He bathed. It was a welcome mercy to purge himself of the scents of that cramped little torture chamber under that castle.But as he bathed he ruminated. What was going to happen when Jaskier walked in the door?

Jaskier had told an entire festival full of people that he planned to to fuck Geralt.Because of course he did. And Geralt wanted that. Oh gods Geralt wanted that. He’d been resisting the urge to claim Jaskier for years. But there was something jangling his nerves. It wasn’t the sex exactly. Geralt had fucked so many people, their faces blurred together in his memory. He was about a century old after all. 

Most of them had been sex workers of one kind or another. The witcher appreciated their trade. It was respectable, necessary work and under appreciated. It was much like being a witcher, actually.The public needed it, demanded it, paid for it. But they never were going to invite you to dinner. 

He’d had a few regulars that he had grown to know and like. It was a select group who were willing to service a witcher. Many others were afraid. He couldn’t blame them. There was physical risk in their profession. Again, just like his.

But when he visited them it was to fulfill a need. Geralt never spoke much, and what he wanted varied little. He got to the point. He cummed. He paid.He left. 

In fact, since he met Jaskier, he had needed more visits to keep his head clear. To keep the intoxication of the wine scent at bay.

But now the floodgates were open and Geralt realized, as patently absurd as this seemed, he had never done this before.Been intimate with someone who loved him the way Jaskier did. Who looked at him the way Jaskier did. 

Certainly some people looked at him with lust.He understood that to some people a hint of danger was an aphrodisiac. And he knew that apart from his inhuman features, he had a form many people found pleasing.And Jaskier did.But he also looked at Geralt with open adoration.He was a witcher but Jaskier looked at him like he was an angel. Fucking someone who knew him. Loved him. Gods. The bard was about to crack open the last piece of Geralt that he’d kept locked up. Jaskier was going to blow him open. Every defense down. The last one.

Also, Jaskier had wanted him since he was a teenager. You couldn’t just rut against someone for a few moments then cum under these circumstances. 

Fuck.

To keep himself from panicking and escaping out the window, he pictured Jaskier’s face.His voice. Telling him to get a grip on himself. 

He paced. 

He built a fire. 

He put on fresh clothes.

He knew for a fact this tunic was Jaskier’s favorite, on account that the neck was cut lower and it was thin and lay softly across his broad chest. It “showed off those spectacular titties”. As Jaskier told him once.Well, more than once. God that man was a little shit. A menace.

And Geralt was going to crawl out of his own skin if he didn’t see him soon.

**Jaskier** ****

Jaskier, Filip, Zophia, and Boris sat around a slab of a mahogany desk in the study adjoining Chessa’s personal quarters. Malitza was sitting straight, counting the last coins into the last of the four linen bags.She tied them up and slid them across the desk to each of them.

The bards all seized the bags as though they would disintegrate, cheering.

As Malitza had counted the money, Jaskier had been picturing all the finery it would afford him. Fine costumes for him, better clothes for Geralt. Jaskier had always wanted to see him in a cape. Yes. Also, Roach needed a new saddle.

“Thank you your majesty,” he signed. Chessa stood by the desk with Katarina, who had been signing everything that passed between the Queen and the bards.

“Yes, thank you,” said the others, almost as one.

“You all earned it.” She signed. “The people loved you.” Jaskier bowed his head graciously. “And we loved them. An audience that gets you paid is a cherished one indeed.”

Chessa looked at Jaskier thoughtfully. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider my offer? To be the court bard? I would keep you in luxury and I would be happy to see you roaming my halls making mischief.”

“While your offer is an unspeakable honor, majesty I would prefer to be a visiting bard. Unfortunately, I’m not especially domesticated,” said Jaskier aloud as he signed.

“He’s more of a feral little witcher’s bard,” said Zophia. That elicited cackling from Boris. Jaskier just shrugged as if to say _I am what I am_.

“I trust I can count on you three then?” Signed Chessa, as she turned to the others.

“Yes, absolutely,” they clamored, nodding enthusiastically. Boris whooped.

“Dol Blathanna is beautiful, majesty.” Said Zophia. “We will love it here.”

“She’s already been down to the blacksmith shop and liked what she saw,” said Boris, waggling his eyebrows.

Filip elbowed him.

“I do have a personal request for another song Jaskier,” signed Chessa.

“Of course my queen.”

“I’d like asong about my mother. My birth mother. Her name was Letisha. Malitza knew her and can tell you what she was like. I don’t want her to be forgotten.”

“It would be my honor,” said Jaskier. 

“And one last thing. The day I met your witcher, he made me a promise,” said Chessa. She pulled a parchment out of a drawer in the desk. She placed it in front of Jaskier and unrolled it on the surface. “He said you would inscribe this for me.”

She looked at him with barely restrained excitement. Jaskier drew a breath when he saw his own words written on the parchment in her handwriting. 

“My queen, it’s _Her Sweet Kiss_!” he looked up at her overjoyed. “That’s my song!”

“I used it to practice my calligraphy,” she signed.“And my sketching.”

Jaskier, drew his fingers over the parchment in awe.He’d written those words hoping they would touch others.But to actually see the evidence of it was like feeling the last piece of a puzzle falling into place.Next to the lyrics was a drawing. It was a handsome man.It looked like he had flowers in his hand? But the details were a little muddled and drawn over.

“Chessa,” said Katarina slowly, as she studied it. “Did you add…long hair to this man?”

Chessa giggled and watched Jaskier waiting for him to understand.Jaskier threw his head back and laughed mightily.

“That’s Geralt! I love it Queen. I absolutely adore it.” He took her hand and kissed it. Then he took her quill and wrote his name on it with a note. “Long live Queen Chessa, most beautiful flower in the valley.” She grinned so happily her eyes crinkled and her eyes twinkled. 

“I think the only sweet kiss he wants is yours, bard,” she signed, finishing by pointing at Jaskier.Jaskier basked in it. People knowing that Geralt loved him. It was true and people knew it.

“Speaking of which,” said Malitza. “we have taken the liberty of moving your things from the merchant’s home to one of our best guest rooms.”

“Please stay with us as long as you’d like,” said Katarina. She came over and kissed Jaskier on the cheek and hugged each of his friends in turn.

They all stood up and bowed, clutching their bags and instruments and repeating their thanks.

Malitza nodded to servant standing by the door, and pointed to Jaskier.

“Please show him to his rooms.”

——

**Jaskier and Geralt**

Jaskier let himself through the giant double doors. He turned to close them and instantly felt a large warm body pressed against him from behind.Strong hands gripped his hips and turned him around until his back was to the door.Geralt pressed hard and needy against him and from the weight of it the door latched behind them. He cradled Jaskier’s face in his hands and leaned in for a slow, tender kiss.Jaskier dropped his coin bag with a thunk and managed to lean his lute against the door without breaking the kiss. Then he wrapped his hands around Geralt’s solid waist. He closed his eyes and felt the heat of the kiss. The shifting of Geralt’s muscles under his hands. Against his body. Then Geralt pulled away and smiled at him, but still held Jaskier’s face. He brushed wisps of Jaskier’s hair back gently and looked into his eyes.

“Welcome back,” Geralt said softly.

“Well, hello there.” Said Jaskier.“How are you darling? Talk to me. ”

“I’m good. Thank you, for your help in the dungeons. Bringing me back.”

“It was my pleasure to be your emotional support bard.” Said Jaskier.

“You changed everything. If you hadn’t have been there... Your effect on me, Jaskier.Your scent. Your touch. Your voice. It’s powerful.”

He reached down for another light sweet kiss that was over far too soon.

“And thank _you_ for bringing me the lute.” Said Jaskier. “Your sacrifice was noted and appreciated.”

He felt Geralt’s chest expand and release.

“I know you heard what I said onstage,” said Jaskier.

“Half the continent did,” said Geralt.

“I just want you to know. We don’t have to do this tonight. After everything you went through. You must be very raw. I can just hold you. We can just talk.”

“No, this is what I need. You touching me. Reminding me that I'm here. Now."

"I can do that, love."

"I just hope that after waiting so long for me, I don’t disappoint.”

“Oh dearheart, there is nothing you could do that would disappoint me.” He stroked a finger down Geralt’s chest and his eyes glinted with mischief. “I see you’re wearing my favorite tunic.”

Geralt dropped his head down to nuzzle Jaskier and smiled into the crook of his neck.He murmured in the bard’s ear. “From now on, instead of deciding  for you what you want, I’m going to try giving you what you want. So tell me, my lark. What do you want?

Jaskier felt a buzz in his body at those words. That buzz travelled south.

“Bloody hell, Geralt, do you have any idea how it anguishes my cock when your voice rumbles in your chest like that. When you purr up against me? And making such promises. Do you actually want me to explode on the spot?”

He squeezed Geralt’s hipbones and then grabbed his ass with both of his hands and squeezed, yanking Geralt even tighter to him. 

“Praise be to the gods for creating such a thick perfect ass.” Jaskier could not resist commenting.

Geralt chuckled, still leaning into his neck. “I mean it. Anything.” He drew ‘anything’ out deliciously and it sounded like a challenge.

“Well fuck. Fuck. You don’t have to tell me a third time,” said Jaskier. He took Geralt’s hands squeezed them. Then he walked over to the massive bed, leading the witcher behind him. Jaskier sat on the bed with a bounce. Geralt started forward to join him but Jaskier stopped him with a firm but gentle hand. 

“Not yet. I want you to stand there for now.” He maneuvered Geralt to stand just a few feet in front of him.

“Here?”

“Yes. Godsdamnit you are gorgeous. Now take off all of your clothes for me.”

Jaskier leaned back on his hands and looked up, tilting his head and waiting. Jaskier raised his eyebrows.

Geralt took off his tunic and dropped it on the ground.

Jaskier whistled low.

“Oh yes. Those tits my god.Now keep going.”

Geralt almost combusted with a combination of embarrassment, pride, and lust. There was something exciting about being the prey for once. He untied his trousers, letting them drop.

“Holy Melitele, now we’re getting somewhere. I’m such a lucky bastard. Now off with the underthings.”

Geralt’s face burned with pleasure and embarrassment. And desire.

He dropped his last article of clothing.

Jaskier had seen glimpses of Geralt naked and had even seen him in the bath. But having his exquisitely carved out witcher standing in front of him fully naked and fully (magnificently) hard, waiting for his instructions, well, Jaskier did pinch himself a little bit discretely.

Then Jaskier stood up. He brushed a finger across Geralt’s stomach as he passed him.

“Now lie down darling.”

Geralt walked over to the bed. He sat then scooted himself up until his head was on the pillows.He was naked, his thick cock flushed and erect, and Jaskier was drinking in the sight.

Jaskier almost couldn’t believe this was working.But he wasn’t going to question it. “Good,” Jaskier said. “That’s good. Now  I want you to pull your legs up. Bend them.”

Geralt did so.

“Now let your knees fall open.”

Geralt did it. He was fully exposed and open. He could see the hungriness in Jaskier’s eyes as they raked over his body. So Geralt stretched out and put his arms behind him to offer a better view.

“Ooooooo.” Said Jaskier. “Look who’s getting brave.”

“Well?” Teased Geralt. “What are you going to do about it?” 

Jaskier, still in his golden costume, walked over to the bed and sat down next to him. He looked Geralt up and down as though he were memorizing every line. 

“By the gods you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

Geralt made a noise that sounded like a purr. “

“Ok, you’ve had your fun. Now I want to see you,” said Geralt, and thumbed Jaskier’s doublet. “Let’s see your beauty.”

“In good time.” Said Jaskier. “Now be a good witcher and touch yourself for me.”

“Is that what you want?” Challenged Geralt.

“For starters.” Said Jaskier.

So Geralt ran his hand towards his cock.

“That’s right.Take it in your hands for me and stroke it.”

So Geralt closed his hand around the velvet skin of his already solidly hard cock and began to stroke. He sighed and wiggled his hips a little.

“Oh you’re showing off now aren’t you?” Said Jaskier. “Absolutely shameless.” Geralt smiled wickedly. 

Jaskier leaned over Geralt and planted one hand on the other side of him. 

“Look at me darling.”

When the golden eyes are trained on him, Jaskier said, “I’m not touching you.”

Geralt huffed out a whine. Jaskier thought that little whines were so delectable coming from a witcher.

“Now hold on. You large needy banquet.”

Geralt chuckled. “Ok what.”

“I’m not touching you until you.. no, don’t stop stroking yourself. Don’t be naughty. Do as you're told. I’m going to be sitting on that, so make it nice and hard for me.”

Geralt began stroking his cock again. It was just difficult to do and not come in five seconds with the way Jaskier was looking at him.

“Not until you tell me, when is the first time you ever wanted to kiss me?” Asked Jaskier.

“Ohhh. Ahh. The first time?” Geralt asked. His hands on his own cock were already distracting him. Thinking about Jaskier’s lips might be too much.

“Yes. I don’t care if it’s hard to focus, try harder.” 

“Ok. Oh. Uhh fuck. It was the day we met. Filivandrel had just let us loose.” Geralt said as his breaths became more shallow as he fucked his own hand. Jaskier just watched the head of Geralt’s cock move in and out of sight, being swallowed by the witcher rough hand.

“Go on?”

“You looked wrecked.” Said Geralt.“Lashes wet. Shirt ripped. A little beat up. But he put the lute in your hands and you lit up like a light.”

“Oh yes I am adorable.” Said Jaskier.

Jaskier rewarded him by dipping his head down and languidly sucking on one of his nipples while stroking across Geralt’s chest, lingering on the dip between his pecs and then tenderly caressing the other nipple. 

“Ugh” Geralt squirmed.Precum beaded at the head of his cock.

Jaskier noticed it.

“Oh yes.” He said with delight. Jaskier reached down and swiped his finger over Geralt’s tip. Feeling Jaskier’s fingers on cock for the first time sent a jolt of pleasure through Geralt’s body. Jaskier held his finger to his lips and sucked it off. 

“Fuck.” Geralt moaned. Please let me touch you. 

“In a moment. When was the first time you ever wanted to fuck me? Tell me while stroke yourself and fuck yourself on your finger.” 

“I.” said Geralt.

“Go ahead wolf. Finger yourself and describe when you first wanted to fuck me.” Jaskier crawled between Geralt’s legs and began kissing and nibbling his thigh. “I’m going to enjoy these morsels you call thighs. Well, go ahead.”

“When.” Geralt swallowed. “Before the banquet at Cintra.” Geralt reached down and pushed one finger slightly in. Jaskier watched it intently biting his lower lip.

“Keep stroking yourself.”

Geralt obeyed. 

“I was in the bath. You were walking around talking about all of the—ahhh.” He gasped as his finger sunk to the first knuckle. “Wives of these men you’d fucked.” 

“Yes.” breathed Jaskier. Jaskier’s pupils were blown. Now he was panting too. He moved back up Geralt and nibbled the witcher’s hip. Licked his side.Angled his head to lick the fingers Geralt had wrapped around his cock. Maddening.

“And then?” Jaskier asked.

“And I.. ah…Pictured peeling your clothes off right there and pulling you into the bath with me. Pulling you onto my lap.”

“How did you picture me.” 

“Ungh I’m going to come.”

“You aren’t allowed to come. Now add a finger,” said Jaskier.

“I pictured you, with your head thrown back, clutching the sides of the bath. Splashing water over the sides as you bounced on my cock.”

Geralt curled both fingers inside himself. He reached down to shove them in further. His cock was leaking again.

“What did I smell like.”

“Like red wine and cum.”

“What noises did you picture me making.”

“Just. Saying my name. Just telling me how I felt splitting you open. Stuffing you full.” Geralt was now pumping his fist faster and shoving his fingers in farther. Jaskier was watching, predatory now.

Geralt began to pant. He flexed his legs.

“No,” said Jaskier, and covered Geralt’s hand with his slimmer one. He gently reached and pulled Geralt’s fingers out.

Geralt strangled another whine.

“Stop now. You aren’t coming until my ass is fluttering around your cock do you understand?” 

“Please.” Whined Geralt.

“Though I might keep teasing you just to hear those exquisite little whines coming from your lips.”

“Please Jaskier.” 

“Please what witcher?”

“Can I touch you,”

“Very well, beautiful. Since you’ve asked so nicely.” 

Geralt sat up and scrambled to remove Jaskier’s doublet, then the tunic underneath. Slowly revealing Jaskier’s soft freckle smattered skin. His firm swelling biceps. His lithe narrow hips. Geralt fumbled for the laces on Jaskier’s trousers. So the bard stood up to help Geralt reach better.The witcher focused on Jaskier’s thatch of chest hair with his necklace sitting in it just so, trailing down to his stomach, Geralt wanted to see how it ended.Geralt pulled down Jaskier’s trousers. 

He breathed out at the sight of Jaskier’s beautiful cock, fully hard.

“I take it you enjoyed the view?” Teased Geralt.

“I did ind—aaahhhh” Gasped Jaskier. Geralt had taken his cock into his lips for a slurping kiss.

“Ok, that’s it.” Said Jaskier. “I’m riding you until you scream.”

Jaskier pushed him back down onto his back and crawled naked up Geralt’s body. He looked like he was prowling. He took his time dipping his hot tongue over Geralt’s thighs, squeezing his hips and the backs of his knees. Running his tongue lightly and absently up Geralt’s cock as the passed it on his way up. Trailing his soft but strong lute calloused fingers, exploring him, his signet rings trailing along with them, cold and smooth. Geralt shivered in delight.

Then Jaskier threw his leg over Geralt until he was fully straddling him.He stretched out and pushed his ass back.He caressed his own cock absently. Let no one say that Jaskier didn’t know how to put on a show.

“Is this how you pictured it?” He asked, batting his eyelashes in faux innocence.

“hmmmmm.” (*fuck yes)

Geralt took Jaskier’s waist and pulled him firmly towards him.

“Oh yes, manhandle me, wolf.” Said Jaskier.

“I need to reach you,” said Geralt.

Geralt leaned up and pressed a filthy probing kiss into Jaskier’s receptive pliant lips, dipping his tongue into the bard’s hot mouth and nipping his lips. Geralt also reached and began to explore Jaskier’s hole, nudging him open. Jaskier moaned helplessly into the kiss and rocked back onto Geralt’s fingers.

He rocked and rocked, until “I’m ready I’m ready.” He whispered. “Please. I need your cock in me right now.

“Geralt withdrew his fingers and Jaskier gasped.Then he lifted himself up. He took the witcher’s cock in his hand and wiggled it into place. Then Jaskier pressed the tip into him and slid. Everything else faded. Disappeared. All Geralt could feel was Jaskier sliding down his cock enveloping him in hot pressure. He could only see Jaskier, flushed face, staring at him, bouncing slowly, controlled, his abs and chest contracting. His biceps flexing as he dragged himself up and down grasping Geralt’s hips for leverage. He’s knees were spread wide And Geralt could see his cock sink in and out of Jaskier’s tightness.

He’d never seen anything so provocative. So wanton. Lovely. Fair skin flushed. Cock bouncing in front of him like a gift. He reached for Jaskier’s cock and caressed it while he squeezed Jaskier’s ass with the other hand.

Jaskier fucked down on him expertly.Teasing. Pulling almost all the way off then sliding down fast. Rocking while he ran his hands over his own chest and played with his nipples. He drove Geralt so wild that the next time Jaskier lifted himself up, Geralt grasped his ass with both hands and squeezed it, holding the bard there, above him, while he fucked up into Jaskier. He knew he had strength far beyond a normal man so he tried to restrain himself. Jaskier noticed.

“No. I want everything. Give me everything. I can take it,” Jaskier told him, breath puffing out rhythmically with each thrust Geralt fucked into him. It sounded like a song.

Geralt lost himself.He thrust harder.Jaskier rewarded him with progressively louder moans.The sounds and smells were so intense, Slapping. Breathing. Soft whispers of “Geralt. Oh. Geralt.Fuck me.” Just as Geralt felt his climax building, pooling hot, Jaskier dropped down and took him deep murmuring,

“Cáemm. Cáemm. Me elaine gwynbleidd. Me elaine vatt’ghern minne. Me minne. ” 

Geralt came harder than he could ever remember, just as Jaskier sheathed him deeply. He cried out and he saw white. He came deep inside of Jaskier. Jaskier’s ass was squeezing and his thighs were trembling.Geralt came and then fell back on the bed, limbs heavy and relaxed, like he’d just been given an anesthetic.Geralt was spent and panting. Jaskier pulled off him slowly. “I told you I’d make you scream.”

“Oh fuck.” Said Geralt.He grasp Jaskier’s thighs and squeezed and stroked as if to sooth them while his breath calmed and slowed. Then Geralt lifted his head and saw Jaskier’s leaking cock still flushed and aroused. His mouth watered and he involuntarily licked his lips. That did not escape Jaskier’s notice.

“Oh, is that right, witcher?” Said Jaskier. He took Geralt’s chin in his hand and pulled his gaze up. “You like what you see. Do you want a taste? Is that what you want, darling?”

Geralt nodded and he rumbled deep in his chest.

“Then lie back down then like a good boy,” said Jaskier. Geralt quickly complied.

Jaskier straddled Geralt’s round thick shoulders with his smooth thighs. He threaded his fingers through Geralt’s hair and grabbed generous handfuls of Geralt’s white mane and pulled firmly. 

“Oh....fuck.” Said Geralt.He felt his cock actually twitch at that. How had that happened again so soon?

Jaskierpulled Geralt’s forward.

“Lick your lips darling.” Geralt licked his lips slowly. “Now open your mouth.”

Geralt parted his lips and felt the hot heaviness of Jaskier’s thick cock sheath into his mouth. He’d never felt so vulnerable. Or powerful. Or desperate. He had never tasted anything so sweet.

Jaskier held him there and fucked into his mouth. Geralt slurped and swirled his tongue needing to taste and smell and feel every last bit of his bard’s gorgeous cock.

“Oh yes, Geralt. Oh gods you feel amazing. Uhhhh.”

Jaskier’s head dropped back, exposing the curve of his pale neck.Geralt reached and squeezed Jaskier’s back as he pumped into him. 

“I’m not going to last long now,” said Jaskier.His hips began to stutter and he moaned so loud it probably echoed through the castle walls. He looked back down at Geralt and pulled his cock out of his mouth far enough for Jaskier to stroke it himself. He wanted to see himself cum on Geralt’s lips. He groaned and stroked faster.He felt his climax build and then release with burning intensity. His cum splattered into Geralt’s mouth and on his lip. Geralt swallowed then licked his lips looking up at Jaskier suggestively.

“OOohhh you are filthy little witcher. You look absolutely debauched. Thank the gods.” Jaskier said and laughed breathlessly. He leaned over Geralt, and kissed him, tasting a little of his own bitterness.

Satisfied, he rolled over to lay next to Geralt, who put his arms around him and drew him close. Jaskier nestled in Geralt’s arms, and rubbed his face on his chest hair.

“Hmmm your chest is so snuggly. I could live here”

“That was amazing,” said Geralt. “Fuck.”

“I know,” said Jaskier.

Geralt smiled.

“So.” Said Jaskier. “You wanted to kiss me the first day we met. What a slut you are.”

Jaskier felt a laugh vibrate in Geralt’s chest.

“I guess I am.”

Jaskier rubbed Geralt’s stomach and twirled his fingers in his chest hair.

“Ok, but now I want to know another thing.”

“Another? You have so many questions.” Said Geralt.

“Yes, you said I could have anything I want. I want you to use your words.” Said Jaskier.

“Ok. What else do you want to know?”

“When did you know you loved me?”

“Ohhhh.” Geralt said and he rubbed his hand on his stubbly jaw.“It’s hard to say. To pick just one day.”

“Well try.” Said Jaskier. “It should be easier now that you aren’t stroking your cock for me.”

Another chuckle vibrated on his cheek. This might be one of most blissful sensations that Jaskier had ever experienced. Riding Geralt of Rivia’s mirthful chest vibrations.

“Ok. Well there was one day I remember. It was just any day. I don’t even remember where we were going. But we were in the tent because it was raining. You were strumming your lute and making up the most asinine song about your own cock.”

“Oh yes, the lizard of Lettenhove, a classic.” Jaskier laughed heartily.

“You were so pleased.” Geralt was laughing deeply and shaking his head.

“But look! Now you know it’s worthy of its own ballad,” insisted Jaskier.

“Indeed,” said Geralt. “But I just looked over at you and thought. What an idiot. But he’s my idiot.”

“Oh Geralt, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Just you wait.” Geralt said, and he rolled over onto Jaskier and kissed him with a sensual languid promise.

”I love you, witcher,” whispered Jaskier into the tender kiss.

”I love you too, songbird.” 

Then Geralt plopped back onto the bed, pulling Jaskier onto his chest as he rolled. Jaskier pulled away from Geralt’s chest with regret. Geralt grunted in protest.

“Dearheart, it could get drafty in here tonight. I’m going to go stoke the fire.” Jaskier began to scoot off the bed, but Geralt grasped his forearm and held him firm. Jaskier looked at him questioningly.

“No.” Said Geralt.

No? Asked Jaskier.

“No. No no no no.” said Geralt as he pulled Jaskier back towards him. “Come back my lark. Don’t go.”

Jaskier laughed and allowed himself to be dragged back to his witcher’s embrace. Geralt snuggled Jaskier back down into the heat of the bed and threw the covers over both of them. He squeezed Jaskier tightly one more time to drive his point home.

“Stay. Stay with me,” said Geralt and nestled his chin above Jaskier’s head.

“Shall we hide?” Asked Jaskier, smiling and snuggling back down onto Geralt’s chest.

“Yes. Under the covers.”

“Quite right. We don’t know what’s out there.” Jaskier agreed.

“Could be wolves,” whispered Geralt.

\-------------

**Epilogue**

**Aleks**

Aleks had been given a very important job to do. He had to find the bard Jaskier before they left Dol Blathanna.

At first this trip had been exciting. Going to the music festival was the first time he’d left his hometown of Posada.His mom and dad had bought him a small guitar and more sweets than he was allowed at home.He’d fallen asleep and snored on his dad’s lap for the last hour of the performances. Yes, it had been merry. But now he was tired and wanted to go home. 

Luckily, he found Jaskier in the same stables where they were boarding their own horses. Aleks spotted Jaskier standing by the brown mare brushing her down. The witcher was also there, packing bags and fastening them to the saddle. 

His mom nudged him. “Go on dear. Jaskier helped us. He killed the shelob.And he helped save you. So go tell him thank you.” She piled a stack of clothing and a earthenware dish into his arms. “And give him these.”

Aleks walked towards them, bundles balanced in his arms. Jaskier saw him first.

“Aleks! How are you lad? All recovered, looks like.” He said, and mussed Aleks’s hair.

“Yes,” said Aleks. “ My mom says to tell you thank you. She had Jakub make this pork roast for you. She said she interrupted your dinner that night.” He held out the dish to Jaskier, who grasped it happily. 

“Ohhhh, your mother is an angel. I am in her debt for the rest of my existence.”

“And she cleaned and darned your costume.” Said Aleks. At that he held out the pile of clothes. 

“She is a goddess among women!” Jaskier took them and hugged the boy with one hand while balancing the pork roast and clothes in the other. “I’m just glad you’re ok,” he said.

The witcher straightened the horses bridle and turned his attention on them.

“And what’s all this for?” Asked the witcher. He had a husky low voice. Aleks had never heard or seen him up close. He was a tiny bit scary. But the way Jaskier stroked his arm made him seem less so.

“My mom said to thank him,” said Aleks.

“Thank him for what?” Asked the witcher as he looked between them.

“Oh nothing much, just killed a shelob for them.” Said Jaskier, already stuffing a bit of the roast into his mouth with his fingers.

“A what??” Demanded the Witcher. 

“In Posada. That’s why I was beat up,” said Jaskier casually.

“And you couldn’t have put me out of my misery and told me that?” Asked the witcher.

“What fun would that have been?” Shrugged Jaskier.

The witcher smacked the bard’s butt and Aleks giggled. His parents were like that sometimes too.

“Besides, you deserved it,” said Jaskier, swallowing his second bite. The witcher took the clothes and dish from the bard and set it down for him.

“My mom says he’s a hero,” said Aleks.

“You have been pretty heroic lately Jask.” Said the witcher, and took Jaskier’s hand in his. 

Jaskier wiped his mouth with his free hand and waved an emphatic no.

“No no. My hero days are over. It’s too violent. I much prefer being the silent backup.”

“Ha, you’ve never been silent a day in your life.” Said the witcher.

“And you love it.” Said the bard.

“That I do.”

And the witcher pulled the bard into his arms and kissed him. 

Aleks figured that was as good a time as any to leave them and go back to his parents, who were standing a few yards away smiling proudly.When he joined them again at their horses, his mother smacked his father on the arm.

“Why don’t you kiss me like that?”

“Aahhh the witcher and the bard,” Groused his father. “Creating unreasonable standards for romance everywhere they go.”

“I think it’s sweet,” said his mom.

“It’s not fair for us regular men,” said his father. “I heard tell that witchers have more emotions than humans do. More intense feelings.”

“I think you’ve got that backwards,” his mom said doubtfully.

“No. I don’t think so,” insisted his father.

“I think you do,” said his mom.

“I’ve heard it both ways,” said his father.

“Well look at them,” continued his mother. “Look at the creative way he’s cleaning the gravy off of the bard’s fingers. Oh and the witcher has a dashing cape on, would you wear a cape for me?”

“Not to worry dear,” said his father. “I’m taking notes. I’ll play witcher and bard with you later tonight.”

They both laughed heartily, though Aleks didn’t get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my research on translated Elder words, “Cáemm. Cáemm. Me elaine gwynbleidd. Me elaine vatt’ghern minne. Esseath me.” would roughly mean “Come. Come. My beautiful white wolf. My beautiful witcher love. You’re mine.”
> 
> —-
> 
> When I first heard about Geraskier week I thought "I'll do a short one shot for the 'Monster Hunt' prompt." Now, after almost two months of sleep deprivation and obsessive writing, and with Geraskier week long over, I have posted this monster of a story. You just never know what's going to come out when you start writing.
> 
> If you've read this far, bless you. I poured my heart into it and it means a lot to me, so if it does to you too, thank you.
> 
> AndI thanked Mandi in the main notes but Mandi if you're reading this thanks for your feedback it made everything a million times better. You are a goddess.


	16. New Art For Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned a beautiful, whimsical piece for this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first long fic ever, and it is still my favorite one. Even though I wrote it before anyone followed me or knew me, I still love it and wanted to commission art for it.
> 
> So please enjoy this beautiful art!
> 
> Also, I am planning a sequel to this piece. I have three current WIPs, so I need to finish at least two of them. But once I do, I'm revisiting this universe.
> 
> The sequel will see Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri living together in a cottage. Geralt is training Ciri and struggling with some of the trauma brought up in the story you just read. Ciri is of course dealing with her own trauma as well as the legacy of her grandmother Calanthe. Jaskier is supporting them as a loving partner and step-dad to Ciri. 
> 
> Then, Queen Chessa asks Jaskier to spy on Elven King Filavandrel because she believes that the elves plan to take back the kingdom.
> 
> While undercover in Filavandrel's court, Jaskier makes a shocking discovery about his parentage that changes everything he believed to be true about himself and his parents. He is drawn so deeply into the world of the elves that he begins to question his loyalties.
> 
> Geralt and Jaskier will be established relationship, and lots of domestic sweetness.
> 
> If you're interested, be sure to subscribe to me on AO3, and it will eventually pop up!

This piece is by Beeruler (Sunnie).

You can find the artist at the following links.

(Copy/paste into your browser)

Twitter: https://twitter.com/beeruler

Tumblr: https://beeruler.tumblr.com/

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/beeruler

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an exploration of Netflix Jaskier and Geralt. But I also drew from the books and the video games for worldbuilding purposes. It is mostly canon compliant, (except of course I've completely erased the very concept of homophobia.. bye bitch) but I also made up original characters so it is a little canon divergent in that sense. (Like I invented a King of Dol Blathanna even though it doesn't have one)
> 
> Mandi thank you for all of your feedback and as always, for obsessing with me about Joey Batey and The Amazing Devil long after everyone else's eyes have glazed over.
> 
> If you enjoyed, consider  
> [subscribing to me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descarada/profile) so you don't miss updates!
> 
> Also, if you'd like to find me on socials:
> 
> Twitter: [buffysummers10](https://twitter.com/BuffySummers10)
> 
> Tumblr: [fangirleaconmigo](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/fangirleaconmigo)  
> Feel free to send me an ask/dm to talk about the fic.
> 
> And last but not least, I have written a deaf character. I have done research, but I am not deaf. If you are deaf, please feel free to critique and I will fix anything immediately if I've gotten it wrong.


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